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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24331375">Coping Mechanisms</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceversa/pseuds/viceversa'>viceversa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Psych (TV 2006)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Betaed, Captivity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, I promise there's a lot of comfort and fluff and sweet times, Kidnapping, Later Seasons AU, M/M, Panic Attacks, Shassie, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts, Touch-Starved, after the first half, but no suicide, the ending is all Wish Fulfillment</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:14:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>31,008</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24331375</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceversa/pseuds/viceversa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlton Lassiter was close to having his shit together for the first time in a very, very long time. His career was solid, his credit rating was excellent, and recent developments with one Shawn Spencer had opened his personal life up to new possibilities. Life was looking up, so it only made sense that it would all be cruelly ripped away from him.<br/>-<br/>Lassie's missing and Shawn is the only one who can find him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>220</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Room</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>thanks to @otava for betaing and encouragement!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Carlton Lassiter was close to having his shit together for the first time in a very, very long time. His career was solid, his credit rating was excellent, and recent developments had opened his personal life up to new possibilities. Life was looking up, so it only made sense it would all be cruelly ripped away from him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room he was in was small, if it could be called a room at all. It looked more like a prison cell, and had functioned as one for weeks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After first trying to escape and not finding a way out of the concrete room, Lassiter had measured as best he could and estimated the space he was in was about ten feet by ten feet. Just small enough for him to not be able to pace. The walls were blindingly white, and the ceiling was too tall for him to reach, also white with embedded fluorescent lighting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some time during week two of his imprisonment, the far light bulb had started flickering every so often. He hated that light bulb more than life itself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter had spent a lot of his time staring at that ceiling. There wasn’t anything else to do, and the speckled ceiling was more interesting than the blank wall. He liked to glare at it like it insulted his mother. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a cot in one corner of the room, just like the ones in the holding cells at the station. It was too short to sleep on with any comfort, but he hadn’t had any choice in the matter. He hadn’t had any choice in this at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a toilet in the opposite corner and a small sink built into the wall. He’d been able to keep himself somewhat clean from the sink, but the clothes he’d been wearing weren’t holding up well with continued use. His dress shirt functioned as a jacket during the day and a covering at night, if the turning off and on of the lights truly meant day and night. His undershirt he kept on constantly, as with his suit pants, boxers and socks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t know where his shoes, tie, belt, or watch had gone along with the contents of his pockets. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room had no windows, and he hated that, too. It was easy to hate everything, it at least gave him an emotion to focus on. The door was made of strong metal, also painted in thick coats of white, with no handle or hinges on his side. No escape. There was a slot at the bottom of the door that would lift up twice a day, at least in the beginning, and a hand would slide in a bowl of food. He drank water from the sink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only air source aside from the slot in the door was a tiny rectangular vent above the door. Sometimes he heard the air conditioning kick on and he felt a slight breeze if he stood in the right spot. The room was cold, even freezing at night, but the breeze was at least something to </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His imprisonment was mostly quiet and very unnerving. He’d never experienced anything quite like it. As a single man, he was used to being alone and the feeling of loneliness, but never total isolation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing ever happened and the days blended together. Sometimes it felt like he’d just gotten there, other days it felt like years since he’d seen his friends. Carlton’s only human contact, outside of talking to himself, was the man who put him there: convicted felon and waste of air, Chad Jernon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter had discerned who had taken him through the rantings of the madman. The slot on the door would occasionally open so Jernon could taunt him and yell about random things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jernon was one of the first cases of his career, nearly fifteen years prior, and it was just an armed robbery case with one fatality. Jernon and a partner had threatened employees at a bank with a gun, Lassiter had been first on scene and apprehended him. He had drawn his weapon and Jernon returned fire and ended up shooting his own criminal buddy in the back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t too bright. But prison had changed him, warped his already sick little criminal mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter even testified at the trial and was present Jernon was sentenced, but he’d obviously gotten out of prison somehow. It must have happened recently enough because Lassiter checked on his old cases about once a month to keep tabs on repeat offenders and those being released. Jernon either escaped or was let go on some technicality, then had enough time to get this room ready and hunt Carlton down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If anything, Lassiter felt more than justified in his paranoia about keeping up with his past cases. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Suck it, therapy and “letting go of the past,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter supposed he was lucky Jernon wasn’t actively, physically torturing him. For an idiot bank robber who couldn’t aim to save his life, the choice to torture Lassiter psychologically was almost impressive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At first, Jernon went down the lazy, predictable route of taunting him. It was textbook movie villain stuff - how he stewed in prison for years just waiting to take revenge on the men who put him there. Occasionally he’d yell about Lassiter and law enforcement in general. The first several times that happened Lassiter had yelled back, but Jernon never answered him or responded to his points. So he gave up - now he just listened. Depending on what mood he was in, Jernon would change it up. Sometimes he’d just talk, taunt Lassiter about his captivity. Jernon said the worst part of jail wasn’t getting roughed up by other inmates - it was solitary confinement. Nothing to do, nothing to see, nowhere to go. It was torture to him, and so when he got out he made this room and hunted Lassiter down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But mostly, everything was quiet, and it was slowly driving him insane. At least in a real solitary confinement, there was an hour a day to go outside. What he wouldn’t give for a little sunlight, just five minutes even. For as Irish and pale of a man he was, living in Santa Barbara meant mostly sunny days year round. He missed the warmth on his skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter usually liked the quiet, but there had always been something there - the background noise at the station, </span>
  <em>
    <span>COPS</span>
  </em>
  <span> playing on TV, Spencer talking incessantly, a radio from the other room. God, what he wouldn't give for a radio then. For anything. Just to see his friends again, even to see Spencer. He needed to talk to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carlton tried to stay busy in the room. He made a routine when he had the energy to burn off. He started doing pushups and situps like he was training for the academy again. He worked on his tap skills, pushing past the frustration of only having socks instead of tap shoes. He stretched, trying to recall yoga positions from watching TV. All while being surrounded in the quiet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He talked to himself to fill the air, worked out cases, and remembered past scores. He went through the Anderson case a dozen times, making sure the witness he highlighted in the file was the only possibility to solve it. He walked through important Civil War battles, trying to recall all the names and dates, giving a lecture to the white wall in front of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes at night, unable to sleep or bear the silence any longer, he’d sing to himself. Old country tunes, low and soothing, imagining a world where his biggest worries were his truck and a dog. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The main problem was that he had nothing to focus on but his own thoughts. Being locked in a room with no stimulation was torture. He had nothing to interact with, nothing to pull his mind in different directions except his own will. That and the pain in his shoulder, which was at least something different to worry with. When Lassiter first woke up in the room, the pain was the first thing he noticed, and he’d been worried it was dislocated, or even that he’d been shot, but it was probably torn muscle from being dragged into this place unconscious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His head had a lump on it too, so he assumed he had been hit and knocked out from behind the day he was taken. He remembered he was about to go home, but couldn’t think of any details past that. He hated not knowing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ache in his shoulder was his only constant company. Sometimes the ache would recede and he would do push-ups and move his arm around to bring the pain back. Just to feel something outside of the pervasive nothing, a distraction from white walls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter knew damn well that wasn’t healthy, but it was all he had. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thought about the station, about bad coffee and stale donuts. He thought about his home, his gun collection, his civil war memorabilia. He thought about O’Hara and how proud he was of her, how he hadn’t told her yet. How he wanted to. He thought about Shawn, about how far they’d come recently, about what had happened just before he was taken. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Kiss</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In the time he’d been held in the too white room, Lassiter had gone through his own case a dozen times in his head as he tried to imagine how the SBPD could find him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d have to find out about Jernon first, which could be difficult for a number of reasons. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trace evidence was an unlikely lead. Lassiter didn’t remember the details of his abduction, but he didn’t think he made it inside his own home before he was hit over the head and taken. That meant any evidence left at the scene would be outside and likely inconclusive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As with most officer-involved cases like this, the suspect list would be large. Every criminal Lassiter had arrested, accused, caught, suspected, interrogated, or perhaps even talked to would be on that list.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His personal book of criminals that he kept up with was one thing - full of repeat offenders, snitches, and dangerous, potentially revenge-seeking lunatics. Most of the last category were still in jail, and he knew Jernon wasn’t on that list. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Actually, he didn’t know what list Jernon was on. The case was so long ago at the beginning of his career, and he was positive Jernon wasn’t even jailed in California. There hadn’t been any updates to a parole or escape on his radar, so there weren’t any notes around his things. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jernon was buried in his past, far from the more recent and more likely candidates. They would likely work from the most recent backward, or something like that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To put a point on it, there was nothing to link his disappearance with Chad Jernon, and he was screwed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After what he thought was day three, or maybe four depending on how long he was unconscious, Carlton started making a small scratch in the wall with his fingernail each morning to keep track of time. He had to try and keep track of time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jernon was impossible to negotiate with, and Lassiter had tried every trick he knew. Empathy, escalation, hell he’d even tried </span>
  <em>
    <span>humor</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Jernon never replied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a surreal existence, the time felt long and unending but other times it felt like it was just yesterday that he’d been in the office investigating a murder case. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was losing weight rapidly. Jernon had started spacing out his meals, sometimes going a full day or more with no contact and no food. Carlton was sure he wasn’t consistent with the light turning on and off either - some days were just longer than others. He wished Jernon would keep the lights off just to stop the damn flickering. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But according to the marks on the wall, it had been at least three weeks. Three weeks since he’d been so tired a cruiser had to drive him home to get some sleep. Three weeks since he’d been knocked out before reaching his door. Three weeks since he saw the station and O’Hara. Three weeks since he last saw Shawn Spencer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Three weeks since he’d been bested by an idiot and alleged murderer named </span>
  <em>
    <span>Chad</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn would probably think that was funny. He tried to laugh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thought of Shawn made him pause. It was one of the most frequent thoughts he had in… captivity. Captivity was the only word for it aside from imprisonment and Lassiter was not a criminal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few months ago, the thought of Spencer even being on Lassiter’s radar would’ve been unsettling. Now, Shawn was nearly the only thing he could think of, aside from getting out of that damn room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was another aspect that was surreal and felt wrong - like it wasn’t quite real. Spencer was his friend now, which already was fodder for cognitive dissonance. He didn’t have many friends to begin with, and to add a former nemesis to that list was startling. That changed when Carlton finally felt comfortable enough to joke back at him one day, and that small moment had shifted everything between them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn had made a dig at a defense attorney and it was actually quite funny. He remembered a loose feeling in his chest and suddenly he was laughing along with O’Hara and Guster at Shawn’s joke. They’d noticed the aberration too, but when Shawn looked at him something was different. Like a wall had been torn down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sitting in a tiny room with nothing else to do but think made it easy to track what had happened between them. It was almost simple: No one had ever made him laugh like that before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The weekend after he laughed with his friends, Shawn had tracked him down at Tom Blair’s. Lassiter had already been drinking, and that made it easy to just… be open and try to have some rare fun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fun. With </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shawn</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And how had he become </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shawn </span>
  </em>
  <span>over </span>
  <em>
    <span>Spencer</span>
  </em>
  <span> anyway?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few days later they had drinks deliberately, which went better than expected. Then Shawn suggested dinner later that week, which felt weird until Shawn took him along the coastline back to psych where they watched a movie Lassiter had admitted to never seeing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That led to Lassiter showing him an Eastwood film a few nights later, which then started a bizarre cycle of 80s teen comedies and dark Westerns. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been so long since Carlton had a friend that he barely remembered how to be one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was nice, having things to do outside of work. It was something that Carlton hadn’t really had since his days in grad school, getting drinks with his criminology cohort and bonding over cases and theories. But being around Shawn felt different. The man had a way of making someone feel like they were the most significant person in the immediate vicinity. A way of making Carlton feel seen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once he let him in, Shawn made him laugh constantly. He was funny when he was being a dumbass, which Carlton could realize now that he knew Shawn was so brilliant under all the jokes and distractions. It was actually through those jokes that he expressed his brilliance too. Shawn had let him in just as much. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took a while for Carlton to realize this wasn’t just a new and unexpected friendship. It was more than beer and move talk - he and Shawn had broken down each other’s walls without trying to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So no, not just a new friendship. It was a newly realized </span>
  <em>
    <span>crush</span>
  </em>
  <span> on a </span>
  <em>
    <span>man.</span>
  </em>
  <span> On </span>
  <em>
    <span>Spencer</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once he figured that out, it took even longer to realize he wasn’t freaking out about it at all. He wasn’t a stranger to being attracted to men, but it hadn’t really happened in a while. There was something in a person that just had to… click with Carlton, to flip a switch in him. Matt had that something back in college. Victoria had lit his heart on fire with love, then burnt it to ashes. Lucinda was honestly just… there, someone to take his mind off of his crumbling marriage. There had been one night stands here and there, but no one as serious as Matt and Victoria. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Could Shawn really be the next name on that list? There were a thousand reasons to say no, but just as many to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah hell, why not? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then came the night they watched the 1986 masterpiece </span>
  <em>
    <span>Heartbreak Ridge</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he acted without thinking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tom Highway is such a good name. Next time we go undercover Lassie, your codename should be Highway and I’ll be J.D.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You want to be that lowlife murderer from Heathers?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No!” Shawn said indignantly. “I just think his name is cool!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re an idiot,” Carlton responded affectionately. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shawn must have sensed the lighter tone to his usual insult because he turned his head to face Lassiter questioningly. But Carlton was already looking at him, and their heads were close, and Carlton made the fatal mistake of looking down at Shawn’s lips. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He moved forward, just a fraction of an inch, but it was enough. Shawn flinched back, eyes forward to the movie once again, and Carlton shut down, trying to focus on the movie instead of what just happened. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The look on Shawn’s face as he turned away and pretended it didn’t even happen haunted him. It wasn’t disgust or even anger. It was a mix of surprise and confusion, like it didn’t make sense for Carlton to make a move at all. They hadn’t gotten a chance to talk about it after. Unless what happened in the file room counted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The day he was abducted, the team was in the middle of a murder case. Alissa Anderson had been murdered in a public park near the beach. The press was all over it - a white, beautiful, college age girl murdered was always food for selling papers, which brought the heat on the department to solve the case sooner rather than later. Psych was brought in almost immediately by virtue of them showing up at the crime scene. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were supposed to watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>Big Trouble in Little China </span>
  </em>
  <span>that night and Carlton had been considering making a tentative move past friendship, but the case had pushed their plans back and back as it went unsolved over a week. He and Shawn barely saw each other - Shawn was working his angle, Lassiter his, and they ran parallel. Shawn had Gus, and he had O’Hara, and that worked for them. They didn’t speak most of the case, aside from the occasional phone call to update each other on clues and hunches.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last they’d spoken was the night before he was taken. Shawn had cornered him in the station, nearly begging for him to take a break. Lassiter was so tired that he couldn’t keep up with Shawn’s ranting about getting some sleep and eating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sitting on the uncomfortable cot in the cell, Carlton closed his eyes and remembered Shawn following him to the file room. Lassiter had had a hunch about the Anderson murder - that he’d seen one of the names in the witness list before. It could’ve been nothing, but it was a lead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was so on autopilot that didn’t even notice that Shawn had been following him until the door clicked shut behind him. Lassiter turned and acknowledged Shawn. Well, snapped at him more like. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m busy, Spencer, go bother someone else or tell me you have a lead.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I - I don’t have a lead, Lassie.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Upon remembering, Shawn had sounded almost nervous.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Lassiter turned and walked down the shelves, looking for the box he was thinking of, but Shawn still followed him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Seriously, man, I’m worried about you. When was the last time you slept? Or ate anything?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter cringed when he remembered how mad he had been at that question. He could feel he was close to a break in the case, in some new lead, and Shawn was there bothering him. But in reality, he was just trying to help.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He remembered turning back to Shawn and opening his mouth, but he didn’t say anything. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> Shawn had on his face had stunned him speechless. He looked… worried. Genuinely concerned, about </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and tired enough himself with it all that he was close to tears. Lassiter held his gaze for a minute and relaxed his shoulders, more confused than accepting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn was his… friend after all. Newly so, but still a friend, and maybe something more could come of that friendship, but Lassiter was so, so close on this case and he couldn’t focus on-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And before he could finish that thought, Shawn was suddenly much closer to him, and as if in slow motion in his memory, Carlton watched as Shawn rose up on his toes and kissed him, gently, right on the mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was over before he could respond, physically or otherwise. Shawn was back on his feet and turning toward the door before his brain caught up with himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just before he left Carlton in the file room, Shawn looked into his eyes and made sure he was heard. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I know you can’t just leave, but get some rest, okay? Take care of yourself.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Back on the cot in the blank torture chamber of a cell, Lassiter remembered nodding slightly at Shawn and watching him walk away. Then he got back to work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was confident he’d found paperwork to prove the witness was lying, and he’d marked it in the file before allowing the uniform to drive him home. Hopefully they found his notes after he didn’t show up the next day. That murdering bastard better be in jail.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wondered what everyone in the station was doing right then. If they were still looking for him. If they’d already given up. There weren't any links to Jernon in anything he’d done recently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thought of Shawn and he hoped he was okay, too. He hated that they left things the way they did - with anger and uncertainty in the middle of a case. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thought in circles, going from the case to Shawn to Jernon to escape to hopelessness back to the case again and again. He trapped himself in memories one day, then the next he couldn’t stop obsessing over his captivity. He glared at the flickering light, then he couldn’t stand to look at it and hid his face in the thin mattress. He couldn’t sleep for days at a time, not tired enough to drift off, then he could sleep for a few days at a time, waking only enough to use the toilet and add another scratch to the wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Much longer and he didn’t know how he would be after he got out - if he got out. If it would ever end. If he wouldn’t just go slowly insane in this tiny room, Jernon his only companion. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks so much for your feedback so far! let me know what you think!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Note</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Shawn was stumped on the Anderson case. The brutal murders of young people always threw him off his game, and Alissa Anderson was no different. With those cases, statistics pointed to a person close to the victim, someone who was romantically or emotionally involved in the situation. With young, attractive, female victims who excelled academically, jealousy over success or hatred stemming from unrequited interest also could factor in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn had gotten nearly nothing from the crime scene, just the name of the college she had attended from a glance at her student ID, but it was enough to get on the case. Nearly a week had passed, and tensions were rising around the case. The press was all over it, Chief Vick was tense, Lassie was upset, and Gus kept sympathy crying every time they interviewed a friend or family member. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was frustrated, his second least favorite emotion. He had gone back to the crime scene, interviewed witnesses, talked to family and teachers and employers - nothing. There were too many possibilities to narrow any one approach down. Something had to give. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s why he had found himself at the station so late. He’d already talked through the case with Gus a dozen times - he’d even gone to Henry with no luck. Shawn knew Lassie would still be at work - he’d barely been anywhere else since the case had started. Maybe talking with him would spark something.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, spark something about the case, anyway. They’d done plenty of sparking something else, or at least he hoped so. He and Lassie had been hanging out like normal people who didn’t hate each other, and it was great. After Shawn got past the hurdle of seeing Lassie as just a cranky stuck-up buzzkill, of course. In reality, he’d always had a crush on the handsome detective, but after actually spending time with him, it had morphed into something real with possibilities. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which, of course, scared the hell out of him. How could he make a move on </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lassie</span>
  </em>
  <span>? What horrible, disastrous way would that end? And would it all be worth it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn followed Lassie to the file room that night, worried and hopeful that he could talk him into going home or at least taking a break. But instead, the decision to act on the spark was made when he kissed him and practically ran away like a scared little girl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a botched attempt at righting the wrong from when they watched </span>
  <em>
    <span>Heartbreak Ridge.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lassie had caught him so by surprise with that move, and Shawn had instantly regretted not leaning in. He wanted that with Lassie, but he had no idea Lassie wanted it too. It haunted him to think how different it all could’ve been if he had just gone with it instead of over-thinking and analyzing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was Shawn’s problem - he was reckless when it came to cases but too timid in his personal life. When someone mattered as much as Lassie, Shawn didn’t know how not to mess it up and he froze. But trying to solve it with a kiss and run wasn’t the answer either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next day, after passing out at the psych office for a few hours, Shawn got back to the station bright and early. He was full of restless energy, both from the unsolved case and the night before. couldn’t stop thinking about kissing Lassie, but he knew they had to solve the case first. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hoped that he’d at least gotten some rest since he’d left him last night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, he didn’t know what to think about what he’d done. He just - he </span>
  <em>
    <span>kissed Lassie! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Right in the file room, no warning! No lead up! He didn’t even wait for a reaction, but he saw the stunned look on Carlton’s face clearly. They’d been heading toward something the last few weeks, but he didn’t know if they were in this territory yet. Or if they were even destined for the kind of territory that involved kissing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn really, really hoped so. Long-term kissing. With extra special benefits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He flopped down at Lassie’s desk and started to spin around in boredom, expecting the man in question to appear with his signature disgruntled morning face and a cup of overly-sweetened, bad coffee. </span>
</p>
<p><span>After waiting a few minutes, Shawn picked the lock on the drawer where Lassie kept files for active cases and started going through notes. Maybe Lassie had made a note or connection that would help him. He flipped through the notes, looking at Lassie’s chicken scratch handwriting on sticky notes and in margins and - </span><em><span>Oh, Lassie! You solved it!</span></em> <em><span>The witness was lying!</span></em></p>
<p>
  <span>Whatever he had been looking for in the file room the night before had been the key, and Shawn felt pride swell in his chest. Lassiter hadn’t made Head Detective by accident, and sometimes his stubborn determination was just what was needed to crack a case.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn thought briefly about using Lassie’s note in a vision to solve the case, but he threw the idea out. Lassie made the connection and he ought to be the one to call in the witness and put the screws to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Where was he anyway?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn stopped a passing officer. “Hey Georgie, is Lassie sleeping in a conference room again? I haven’t seen him and it’s very very early - Lassie hours early.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, no Shawn. I think Krews took him home last night to get some sleep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks buddy,” Shawn replied. That was good - at least Lassie was getting some rest. He was surprised that he hadn’t just passed out in the breakroom after all. It was pretty early, but the case could be closed today, and with his lead too! He should be there any minute.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not one to wait around and do nothing, Shawn walked around the station to see if anyone needed any free “psychic” advice. In just over an hour, he connected two robbery cases, refilled the coffee machine, pinned a break and enter case as insurance fraud, found a stolen stapler, and pointed a missing person case in the right direction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked up from his last mini-solve to see that the Chief was in her office and that Juliet had just arrived. He walked toward her desk to say hi, taking note of how rundown she looked too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Jules! Morning, morning. I have a good feeling about today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Juliet looked up and blinked tiredly, clutching her coffee possessively. “I hope you’re right, Shawn. We need a break on this case.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not to worry Jules! I have a mystical feeling that Detective Lassiekins has the key to this case - have you seen him yet?” he asked, looking at Lassie’s desk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, uh, nope,” she replied, draining her coffee while trying to unlock her computer one-handed. “He stayed late last night though.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Juliet trailed off, focusing on her inbox. Shawn clicked his tongue, wishing Gus wasn’t “being responsible” and “keeping his steady source of income” today. Morose, Shawn stalked back to Lassie’s desk, taking a quick detour to grab snacks. He’d give Lassie another hour before he started calling him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been way too long, and Shawn was getting worried. Doubly worried. Worried to the point of vibrating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassie hadn’t shown up yet, and he hadn’t answered any of his calls. Maybe - </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe - </span>
  </em>
  <span>his phone was off and he just hadn’t woken up, but Lassie was always on time to work. This wasn’t like him, and there was a sick feeling inside Shawn that was growing by the minute. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve got a bad feeling about this vibes</span>
  </em>
  <span> rose exponentially until he couldn’t stand it any longer. He told Jules he was worried that Lassie was still gone, and they went to the Chief about it. The Chief called Lassie, got no response, and looked up with a worried expression. Shawn knew she felt the bad juju-beans too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The events that followed went impossibly fast. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jules sent a cruiser to check Lassie’s house. Vick tracked down Officer Krews, who confirmed he had dropped Lassiter off last night, and Shawn could tell he was being honest. Shawn called his cell again, and again, and within a few minutes the cruiser they had sent to check on him called in to the Chief’s office. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn remembered exactly what he’d said, even days later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Lassiter did not answer the door, but it was unlocked. He’s not here, Chief. No signs of a struggle, no indication he had been here recently. He’s just… gone.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d all waited a beat before jumping to action. Shawn had gone with Jules to Lassie’s house and confirmed the officer’s report. Lassie was missing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The trace on his cell led them to a dumpster downtown. Someone had thrown it there, along with Lassie’s badge, wallet, belt, and shoes. The only prints were Lassie’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After that, they had </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Nada. They waited on a ransom call or a threatening letter, but nothing arrived. They waited for someone to call in on the BOLO, for someone to come forward, for a sign from the freaking universe, and they got nothing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn was going insane. He was practically crawling up the walls with frustration and anger, and he was sick with worry. Lassie was </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone </span>
  </em>
  <span>and they had </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just a few days ago, Shawn was thinking about kissing him when they watched </span>
  <em>
    <span>Big Trouble in Little China</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and now Lassiter was missing. Shawn thought of their kiss that happened unplanned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just the press of lips was like fireworks, or at least the invisible kind that happens when he pours milk into Rice Krispies. It was great, and he was almost sure that Lassie was about to kiss him back when he left, and it was the biggest mistake he could’ve made, aside from turning away from Lassie’s first attempt at a kiss, because it caused him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Lassie to </span>
  <em>
    <span>go get abducted </span>
  </em>
  <span>and now he was probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Or worse.</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it was all Shawn’s fault.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you for all the feedback, comments are really appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Search</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Days passed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Days</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and they were no closer to finding Lassie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once they knew Lassie was actually missing, Shawn had “psychically” led them to the file and Lassie’s note about the witness. Everyone thought Lassie missing was connected to the murder case, but once they tracked down the witness-turned-suspect and got him to confess, they deduced he had nothing to do with Lassie being gone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then they were all back to square one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassie was officially just a missing person. There was no body, and Shawn tried to block it out but he knew that all precincts were on watch for corpses and that the local hospital morgues had been notified. Lassie was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>missing</span>
  </em>
  <span> and all they had to do was find him. No one would murder the Head Detective of the SBPD and not claim credit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone who was available began looking into his old cases, starting with the most recent and working backward. Even Chief Vick stayed late and came in early to try and track down the culprit, but with no leads the trail didn’t just go cold - it disappeared completely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, Vick had to assign other cases to the lower detectives. At the end of the first week with their Head Detective missing, the SBPD was seemingly giving up and Shawn couldn’t stand it. He snapped out his frustration in yet another meeting of the team. Gus had come with him, and Jules and the Chief looked grim as they told him of more cutbacks on manpower.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No! Don’t you understand? Lassie is </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone</span>
  </em>
  <span> - he’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>taken</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and no one is stepping up to be his Liam Neeson!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Spencer, we are all working on finding Lassiter, but there’s nothing that-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You aren’t doing enough! </span>
  <em>
    <span>We </span>
  </em>
  <span>aren’t doing enough! We wasted too much time thinking it was connected to the Anderson murder, the answer has to be somewhere! Lassie is out there, probably tied up in some weird dungeon or attic or being converted in some cult and we have to find him!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Juliet stepped in and put a calming hand in his arm. “Shawn, really, we’re going through old case files, but it’s going to take some time. His past arrests that have been released are still being tracked down, and all the incarcerated criminals with connections outside of prison are even harder to track. There’s been no call, threat, or ransom demand, all of which should have come in the first 72 hours. And Shawn, it’s been…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn shucked off Juliet’s hand, seeing Gus flinch at the sudden movement. “Don’t tell me how long it’s been Juliet. I know exactly how long my friend has been missing! And we have failed him - </span>
  <em>
    <span>we can’t just give up</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Spencer we are not giving up! But crime does not stop - as far as the facts have led, Lassiter is a missing person. But we have nothing else to go on. Now unless you can psychically lead us to something, we have to do this by the book.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn was already shaking his head, unable to follow the slow process at the station anymore. It’s not like they didn’t care - of course they did. Juliet was nearly in tears, and the Chief was audibly upset. But he couldn’t just stand there and hope for a lead to fall out of the sky. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t bother, Chief! I’m working on Lassie’s case and I’m unavailable for any other cases until we get him back. Call me if you have updates, I’ll be at my office.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stormed out, Gus silent and supportive behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn had never been so disillusioned with the station. They were practically giving up on Lassie! They were his </span>
  <em>
    <span>family,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and if anything, they needed to be knocking on doors all over Santa Barbara, putting his face on milk cartons, assigning even more people to the case until </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone </span>
  </em>
  <span>found him! </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Screw police procedure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After his freakout at the station Shawn was living in the psych office, Lassie’s case file all over his desk. He has systematically been going through and clearing every single arrest and confrontation Lassiter’s career had caused, starting with those who were violent and threatening toward the police or even Lassie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It really shouldn’t have surprised him that the number of criminals Lassie had managed to piss off personally was pretty high. Shawn even had managed to snag Lassie’s little black book of felons and repeat offenders, and he was certain the culprit must be one of those. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn spent a few days canvassing Lassie’s neighborhood, asking if anyone saw or heard anything, and did the same at the dumpster site downtown. Neither location had surveillance cameras, and no one reported or remembered anything weird.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The answer was in the paperwork surrounding him, and he just had to find it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gus came in to help as much as he could, but Shawn couldn’t help but double check all of Gus’ work. As the days passed, Gus spent more time working his other job, dating some woman named Jessica, and generally staying out of Shawn’s way aside from bringing him jerk chicken and offering moral support.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On very little sleep, Shawn had snapped at Gus one too many times and Gus finally snapped back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell, Shawn! I get this is Lassiter and he’s our friend, but you’re practically going insane with this!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn gaped at him. “He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>missing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Gus! He could be hurt or worse and we have to find him!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I get that, Shawn. We’d be working hard on anyone else who was missing too, but you’ve got a crazy look in your eye. Crazier than usual.” Gus sat back at his desk. “I’m just saying, you seem distracted and it’s making you mean, Shawn.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn put his head in his hands and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. Gus was right. He’d cranked it up to twelve and left it there for too long. It was past time Gus knew what was up with them, anyway. “I like Lassie, Gus.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We all respect Lassiter, Shawn.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he lifted his head and looked at his friend pointedly, hoping Gus would read his mind again. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Gus said automatically, then his eyes went wide. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Shawn, ew! Lassie? Ew, why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gus, have some respect, the man is missing!” Shawn half-joked at him, deflecting just a little. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How long has this been going on!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn could tell Gus was upset about being kept out of the loop, not about him liking Lassie. “Crushing on him? Uh, how long have we known him again?” Gus sputtered across from him. “Semi-dating him by instituting regular movie nights? A few months.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Gus could draw in another full breath he nearly shouted. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What?! </span>
  </em>
  <span>And you didn’t tell me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There was nothing to tell!” Shawn threw up his hands. “Very little to tell! What do you want to know? He prefers kettle corn over popcorn, he cried during </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mulholland Drive</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I think he likes me back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gus deflated slightly. “And you really like him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, buddy. I do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gus was still in his seat for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. Leave me out of it, and if I hear you utter the phrase </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot man-love </span>
  </em>
  <span>ONCE, Shawn, I’m outta here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn couldn’t hold back a laugh at that, knowing how much he’d terrorized Gus with that in the past. “You got it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” Gus said. “Now let’s find Lassie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Shawn was able to tear his eyes off his computer screen or the notes around him, he was drawn to the couch in front of the TV, flashing back to his recent movie nights with Lassie. Distantly, Shawn smiled at the memory of how upset he had been when they watched </span>
  <em>
    <span>Heathers.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn worked nonstop, tracing every one of the names in Lassie’s book down however he could online, sending some to Juliet to double check more officially. He went through the entire list of threatening bad guys twice and no one came up as suspicious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gus came back to help cross reference the main bad guys in Lassie’s book and try to talk Shawn to a breakthrough. It was a tactic that usually happened organically, but they were both at their wits end. This wasn’t how it usually worked after all. But there was barely a crime scene. Whoever had Lassie - and Shawn firmly believed Lassie was alive because the other option just was not an option - whoever had Lassie was either smart enough to contain it or dumb enough to not think about his options.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Currently, Gus was letting Shawn just rant to him, hoping something would stick out  in his head. He’d memorized practically every case file, note, and anything he’d looked at concerning Lassiter over the last two weeks, and now he just needed something to click. He would have thought his brain was broken, but while sifting through all the papers Shawn also managed to resolve about three unsolved cases and link another two. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know where to look next, man. It’s like he just disappeared, alien abduction style but without all the crop circles and flashing lights.” Shawn bounced a ball on the wall a few times before throwing it across the room. “There’s nothing!” he shouted, knowing his frustration was getting the better of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There has to be something. Something we didn’t consider,” said Gus reasonably. He was concerned about Lassiter too. Lassiter was a good cop and man, even if he scared him more often than not. “We’ve looked through all the criminals, what about his personal life?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lassie doesn’t have a personal life.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s friends with you, and with Juliet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn rolled his eyes, trying not to yell at his friend. “Jules and I did not kidnap Lassie. Next?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gus went on, undeterred at Shawn’s sarcasm. “His family?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mother and her partner are clear. No motive, nothing to gain, and they’re both in their late 50s so I doubt they had the means.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sister?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lulu is an innocent angel, you and I both know that. Besides, she’s in New York and again, has no motive or means. And he hasn’t talked to his brother in years.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vengeful exes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn sighed, going through the list in his head. “Victoria has no motive - she got her divorce. If she wanted to see Lassie suffer, they’d still be together. No other significant relationship before or since, at least not one that would escalate to this without signs leading up to a kidnapping.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, okay,” said Gus. “Well it’s not a random crime of opportunity, it’s too clean. The bad guy has to be someone who planned this out and waited for the right time. Someone with a longstanding grudge against Lassiter, years or even decades in the making.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gus was wise to keep his own theories to himself - that a released felon saw an opportunity and took Lassiter out quickly and quietly. Any time the idea that Lassiter wasn’t still alive was even hinted at, Shawn flew off the wall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Which leaves us with criminals or someone connected to him through other means,” Shawn said monotonously. They’d been going in the same circles for days and they’d nearly had this exact conversation before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Professional rivalries, legal disputes, neighbors, tertiary connections, and old enemies,” Gus recited. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All of which check out!” Shawn nearly yelled. It was true - he’d done more digging into Lassiter’s life and he knew more about him now than he did himself. He had a great credit rating, which impressed Shawn once Gus explained what that meant (and that apparently he had one too). He’d paid his professional and personal debts, there weren’t any recorded legal or personal issues he was actively dealing with, and everyone in his past had either described him as “dedicated to the point of annoyance, but not further than that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a man with literally hundreds of people who could have motive to kill him, no one was stepping up to the plate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The answer has to be here, in the papers. Unless it is aliens, or some David Lynch style third dimension plot twist,” Shawn said. If Lassie was stuck in the Black Lodge, at least he might come back in twenty-five years.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not like there was some crazy prison break where Lassiter’s personal Batman-style Rogues Gallery escaped and hatched the perfect plan to kidnap him,” Gus said. “It’d be a hell of a lot easier to track that than digging through…” he trailed off, realizing his friend was unnaturally still and silent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That only meant one thing. His crazy memory connected two dots and was processing. After two weeks, they finally had a lead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn sat straight up on the couch, eyes wide at the memory that assaulted him, suddenly remembering half of a newspaper article he’d caught a glimpse of the last time his father had come in to passive-aggressively try and help. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Henry had been waving the paper around in his hand, ranting about the messiness of the office and something about being unprofessional, Shawn didn’t really listen, but his brain saw something and remembered it, just like it had been trained to do for decades. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was an article in the paper he’d barely seen. It was about some expert witness from the late 90s who had testified in several trials in California. He turned out to be corrupt, and all the testimony he’d given about security footage facial recognition and recreation was thrown out. Because of that, almost ten convicted felons had been granted early parole over the past few months. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frantic, and desperately hoping that this was their break in the case, Shawn found the article online. Henry’s hand had obscured the second half of the piece, where the names of the released would have been. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was it, this had to be the link - some old case of Lassie’s they’d overlooked or that didn’t list his name. Shawn froze, his eyes locked on the name in front of him. It had to be him; it was the only name that was also on Lassie’s list.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chad Jernon was their man. Now they just had to find him.  Newly determined and hopeful, Shawn called Jules to tell her the news. In the back of his head he thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Really? Chad?</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for your continued support! comments are serotonin &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Rescue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The penal system in the United States developed under two systems: the Pennsylvania system and the Auburn system. Solitary confinement was derived from the former. Early Quakers and Calvinists believed that time spent solitary would allow for the prisoner to reflect on his crime and connect to God. This was an alternative to public flogging and other types of punishments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The current system in California labeled solitary as Solitary Housing Units, or SHU. The most prominent of which was Pelican Bay, a supermax prison entirely made of SHU units. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carlton vaguely remembered writing a paper about solitary confinement back in grad school. The problem he was researching was the possible conflict with the 8th Amendment. He respected the constitution like any good American, but he remembered being unconvinced that solitary wasn’t technically ‘cruel and unusual punishment.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, however, he was quite convinced it was both cruel and unusual. If pressed, he might admit to torture, which violated a hell of a lot more than just the constitution.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this point, he’d take public flogging rather than spending another second alone in the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter lay listless on his cot, one arm dangling over and awkwardly interacting with the floor at mid-forearm. Half-asleep, his mind cycled through sensations, feeling every scratch of fabric on his skin, feeling the weight of his body pressing down and the metal beneath the thin mattress pressing up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rocked his head back and forth, the hair on his cheek brushing against the hard cot cover. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would Jernon leave him here forever without clean sheets? What he wouldn’t give just for that, Downy-fresh sheets, a change of clothes. Should he ask for them? Had he already asked for them? It didn’t really matter. Jernon never listened to him when he spoke, and he barely spoke anymore. He just pushed a sad McDonald’s burger through the slot in the door and shut it harshly behind him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He missed the yelling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Craving noise and control, he started clinking his fingernails on the metal leg near his hand. Clink clink. He made a rhythm.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Bad boys, bad boy, whatcha gonna do?</span>
  </em>
  <span> What was he gonna do?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter was exhausted, but his eyes wouldn’t stay closed. They kept snapping open, or refusing to shut at all, focusing harshly on some middle distance point as his brain accelerated, spinning out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to think about something stable or he was going to go insane. Inwardly, he balked at the image of him curled in the corner, chattering like a deranged mental patient. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes and created a story in his head. It was titled “Everything is Normal” and it went like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He woke up in his own bed and stretched. He got up and brushed his teeth while the coffee pot made noise in the other room. He put on fresh clothes, clean clothes, normal clothes. He drank a cup of coffee and read a report. He left his house and went to the station. He worked. He solved cases. He yelled at criminals. He locked other people up. It was normal. He yelled at Spencer, knowing they were going to watch another movie that night. He talked to O’Hara. He talked to the Chief. He worked late, but left with enough time to meet Shawn. They watched a movie at his office. This time, Lassiter put an arm around Shawn. This time, he didn’t leave right after. It was a good day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was nothing to do in the room and he was restless and anxious, so Lassiter did what he could for stimulation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cot was bolted to the floor, but he slept in a different position most nights, eating up a tiny amount of time just flipping the mattress and sheet back and forth and every which way. He made the bed sometimes. He left it messy others. Sometimes he never got out of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slid under the frame on the dusty floor, just for something different. He slept there one night, feeling safe under the metal, thinking of building forts as a kid, but woke up cold and achy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He exercised every time he had the energy to do so. Pushups, sit-ups, squats, stretching. Ineffectual tap dancing; trying to focus his mind and body on anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kept the clean wrappings from the food just to have something physical to mess with. Anything too dirty goes down the toilet in small pieces, as he didn’t want to attract rats. Not that he knew how they could get into the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wished he knew origami, but all he can do is make sad paper airplanes that don’t go very far. Not that they have far to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The small scratches on the wall kept pseudo-time, and Lassiter thought he was probably sleeping more than he normally would. He also thought that the lights above him didn’t stay on and off at regular intervals. He was losing time, or maybe gaining too much, existing in liminal space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By week three, Lassiter was convinced no one was looking for him. That, or they were looking in the wrong place. Not that he even knew where he was - there was no window and nearly nothing in the cell to point him in the right direction. If he had to guess, he was in a modified bathroom in an abandoned warehouse, likely near the water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Occasionally, if his brain wasn’t lying to him, he could smell the salt air of the ocean when Jernon had opened the slot on the door. The sounds outside of his cell were muffled, but the ones that made it through were loud and distant, pointing to a shipping yard or warehouse district with large machinery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hair was getting uncomfortably shaggy around his ears and neck, and his beard was growing in more than he’d allowed it to in years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some selfless, detached part of his brain hoped everyone at the station was okay without him, and that they weren’t too guilty over not finding him. They probably had no leads, and procedure would dictate a cold trail to be passed down the chain of command until it goes completely cold. How long would it take for them to give up tracing all his enemies? How long before they just stop looking for him altogether?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter pictured his name on the plaque near the entrance of the station that honored fallen officers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Carlton Lassiter, Head Detective, SBPD</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He wondered how long they would wait until someone came to pack up his house. Lulu was his next of kin - he hoped they didn’t bother her too much. She was doing well in New York and he was proud of her for finding something she loved to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter thought of his mother, and wondered what her reaction was to all this. How did they phrase it to her - was he a missing person? A kidnapped victim? He’d been on the receiving end of his mother’s rants about being killed in action enough to think she may be prepared to accept his death. Lulu may be different, more sad for longer, but she was still so young and had her whole career ahead of her. No one had even heard from Travis for years, and as far as Lassiter knew his big brother was still surfing in Australia or some other third world country. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He regretted not updating his will. There was a handgun he wanted O’Hara to have, and his newer Civil War collectables should be donated to a museum. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his darker moments, he wished Shawn was actually psychic. He would close his eyes in the darkness, thinking hard, trying to send out thoughts to him, almost mocking in their intensity and content. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, Spencer. Psychically pick up on </span>
  </em>
  <span>this</span>
  <em>
    <span>. Oh wait, you can’t? The spirits aren’t relaying my message to you? I’m shocked, Spencer, shocked and appalled. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was funny - back in the beginning when Shawn first showed up, Lassiter thought he had it all figured out. At first he thought Spencer would either slip up and admit he wasn’t a psychic, thus ending up in jail, or mess up a case and get killed. As time went on and Spencer and Guster integrated themselves into the team, Lassiter monitored Shawn flirting with O’Hara and feared for the moment they would date and the delicate balance they had would go to hell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both predictions never came true, but he wasn’t the one pretending to see the future. Not that Shawn ever did either, but no one could have predicted the break in tension that allowed them to… to what. What were they? Friends, Lassiter could say for sure. He hadn’t had many in life, so he could spot them fairly quickly. But recently, their movie nights had begun to feel more… intimate. Shawn had actually put his arm around his shoulders during </span>
  <em>
    <span>Heathers</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And his own aborted move to kiss Shawn in the middle of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Heartbreak Ridge</span>
  </em>
  <span>… he tried not to think about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The most telling development in their… whatever it was… was that Shawn had completely dropped the psychic act around him. Well, he didn’t stop making the jokes or stupid references to his supposed psychicness, but he didn’t try to convince Lassiter when it was just the two of them. It was nearly intimate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the night in the file room - what was he supposed to make of it? He’d gone over it dozens - probably hundreds now - of times while locked up in this godforsaken room. He’d run scenario after scenario, he regretted not kissing him back. Do friends kiss each other? Is that just another way Shawn showed affection? Did he mean it like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lassie, I’m worried for you, take care of yourself</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lassie, I like you like you and after this case is done let’s make out in front of those movies we watch together.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>If he ever got out of here… hell, he had no idea what would happen, what condition he would be in, but if he got out of here he had some serious talking to do with Shawn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the endless hours spent in captivity, Lassiter slowly came to terms with dying in that prison cell. The facts were bare and statistics weren’t in his favor. It was a wonder Jernon had kept him alive this long, and it seemed like the man was waiting for him to go insane. At some point, Jernon would tire of him and kill him. That was just a fact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carlton spent a few days wondering how he would do it. Preferably it would be quick, a gunshot to the head or a fast acting poison. He’d already suffered enough in the cell, Jernon didn’t need to draw out his death, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could if he wanted to, of course. Jernon could watch him starve to death. Or maybe Jernon would shoot him somewhere he’d painfully and slowly bleed out from. The options were endless, and Carlton found it hard to hope for any future when he thought about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He mainly hoped that, when he was dead, Jernon would leave his body somewhere so his friends and family could get closure. He didn’t want to end up in a cold case file for decades, his body never found and Jernon never brought to justice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought of the latter alone kept him up at night. During those long nights with nothing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>left to him but silence and his own thoughts, when singing to himself did nothing but fill the room with a broken tune, Carlton considered his exit plans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were a few sharp corners on the bed that could pierce his temple quickly and relatively painlessly. He could jury-rig the thin sheet on his cot to hang himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were just plans, a last resort if things truly became unbearable and Lassiter had no plan on following through with them. Not yet. But he was a man who needed backup plans, and he didn’t see many other futures available to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were four options. One, Jernon would kill him. How he did it would be a surprise.  Two, Jernon would wait until Lassiter was crazy and just let him suffer that way. Three, Lassiter would get messed up in the head enough to take matters into his own hands. And four, Lassiter would escape alive, either from a mistake by Jernon or via a rescue operation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he had been here for weeks if his count was anywhere near accurate. That kind of missing person case didn’t have a good outcome ever. His friends, colleagues, and family no doubt thought him dead and gone. He could tell Jernon was getting bored of him - he wasn’t appearing nearly as often to yell and he was becoming erratic in his meal delivery, if it happened at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered if they gave him a memorial service yet, or if they’d just forget about him over time. Maybe someone would say something once the years passed and he was officially declared dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>O’Hara would no doubt be the new Head Detective. He had trained her well, and she was strong and intelligent in her own right. Lassiter was proud of her. He wished he got to say that to her more often. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>McNabb suddenly popped into his brain and he nearly laughed at the image. The bumbling, much too tall officer likely would have cried at all this, probably more than once. Not that it would be special or unusual; McNabb cried all the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hopefully the Chief wouldn’t face too much backlash for losing her Head Detective in the first place. If he knew Karen, she’d gone above and beyond in looking for him. She’d always done that, even if at first her methods were seemingly… insane. Namely, hiring two civilians that claimed to communicate with the supernatural - which did not exist - to solve crimes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every thought Carlton had seemed to circle back to Shawn Spencer. He was tied to his personal and professional lives, as well as his… imagination. Ahem. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn was the most stubborn person he knew outside of himself, and he knew that he wouldn’t just give up on searching for him. The thought brought him a lot of comfort, actually, but as the days passed he had to acknowledge that even Shawn was just a consulting detective. A damn good one, but human just like the rest of them. There was no psychic energy force leading him to where Lassiter was kept, no spirits to give him clues, and no </span>
  <em>
    <span>vibrations </span>
  </em>
  <span>to put him on the right path. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter was sure that there was nothing linking Jernon to his disappearance - nothing in the last 15 years of police work. Maybe his name was somewhere, but on paper he had no motive, means, or opportunity to accomplish this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is why when he’s awoken in the middle of the night - or at least the middle of the period where Jernon had the lights off - to the sounds of multiple footsteps and shouting outside his door, he doesn’t think anything good is about to happen to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His first thought is that Jernon had brought along a couple thug friends and he was about to be beaten to death. His second guess was that the warehouse had been infiltrated by other people, ruffians or a cartel, and he would be left there by Jernon to rot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it would change things, give him a chance to escape. Or maybe it meant nothing at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That is why he didn’t yell out, or draw attention to himself. In fact, he didn’t do anything at all. He stayed on his cot, eyes open in the darkness, calmly waiting for whatever would happen next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard a thunk, then more yelling, the words indecipherable through the concrete walls. Then silence, for a stretch, almost falling back asleep. He’d been caught in the low energy stage for a few days, not managing to do much more than turn over before falling back asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later, though he didn’t know how long it was, he sat straight up in his bed at a new sound: Someone was knocking on the door. His eyes stared at the direction of the sound in the pitch dark, waiting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jernon had never knocked. He never did anything but open the slot, slide him food, and yell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The slot opened, a sliver of light spilling in from the hallway and lighting the floor. A figure dropped down, blocking most of the light, and Carlton’s mouth dropped open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lassie, you in there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was he hallucinating? Was this the moment he snapped? Because that couldn’t be Shawn the door, it had to be a dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gus, hurry up with the lock already!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That couldn’t be Shawn, not really. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, is that a light switch?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room flooded with light, and Carlton blinked, his eyes trying to adjust as his mind spiraled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lassie! Oh my God, Gus, it’s Lassie!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shawn?” he said instinctively, his voice raspy with disuse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something clicked in the hallway, then the closed door he’d stared at for a month straight creaked open. For a second there was silence as two familiar figures looked inside the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carlton looked up and locked eyes with the first person he’d seen since he was taken, and Shawn Spencer stared right back. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. Was this real? Or was he about to wake up, all of this another cruel dream of his rescue?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Shawn rushed in and he was overwhelmed with the psychic throwing his arms around him. Carlton let out a shocked sound, his body moving automatically to wrap his arms around Shawn, desperate for human contact. Shawn was there, he was really there, and the door was open, and he was being hugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lassie, you’re okay, you’re safe,” Shawn said, over and over, rocking him back and forth. “Oh, God, Lassie. Carlton. You’re okay. You’re okay, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A burst of noise came from the hallway, Guster shouting and people rushing into the doorway. It was overwhelming, and Lassiter closed his eyes tight at the sensory overload. There had been nothing for so long, and now it was everything he could do to just hold on to the body wrapped around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was safe. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>saved</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Shawn had found him, and he was okay. Lassiter held on tighter, not noticing the tears running down his face, not hearing anything but Shawn’s babble in his ear, not feeling anything but the arms wrapped around him, the gentle kisses to his temple, the rocking back and forth of two bodies desperate to connect. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>as always, thanks to @otava for their beta work, continuing to push me to write better! let me know what you think!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Hospital</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Disclaimer: all the medical advice / knowledge from here on out is mainly my taking liberties on the research I did. I could’ve gone a lot darker and scarier on things, but I tried to keep everything relatively light after Lassie got rescued. All of Lassie’s symptoms and what his therapist/ doctor talks about come from different studies on solitary confinement and isolation. <br/>Thanks to @otava for beta work and pushing me to make this chapter better!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Everything after he was found was a blur. Not used to processing human interaction or new places, Lassiter’s brain shut down. From the first step into the hallway to being questioned in a hospital room, Lassiter remembered very little. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What he did remember was Shawn, always by his side. Whether that was by virtue of wanting to be there or simply complying with Lassiter’s firm grip on his hand when he could reach him, Shawn stayed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter felt Shawn by his side when the paramedics they brought to the warehouse looked him over and took him to the nearest hospital. Shawn didn’t leave the room when he was told to change into a hospital gown - and he changed gladly, hoping to never see those clothes again. Shawn was there while the doctors took blood tests and questioned him about injuries, patient with his quiet, monosyllabic answers. Shawn even stayed, albeit in the main room, when Lassiter was finally, blissfully allowed to take a hot shower. It did wonders to shake the persistent chill he’d had in the cell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The doctors and nurses came in and out, assessing his shoulder injury and now healed head wound. Lassiter held tight to Shawn’s hand when they talked about malnutrition and his weight loss, the muscle weakness he was experiencing from it and the confined movement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>People were in and out and in and out, and Lassiter could hardly keep up. He’d gone from zero to a hundred in terms of isolation, but the chaos around him was infinitely better. He just had to focus on getting through that day and then he could go </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter listened intently when Shawn filled him in on everything that had happened as soon as he could pay attention. He detailed the search, the nonexistent leads, and the dwindling effort to find him. His voice hitched when talking about having to wait outside the warehouse when SWAT was sent in, seeing them bring out Jernon but no one else. He left nothing out, not even his own frustration at the department - at O’Hara and the Chief. Shawn also couldn’t take his eyes off of Lassiter, looking at him like if he blinked he would disappear. Lassiter felt similar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘S not your fault,” he said. Lassiter hadn’t spoken much in the hours since he was found, but he made sure to speak up when Shawn was so obviously distraught. “Not theirs either. Following procedure.” He hated being in this hospital bed, in a new room he wasn’t supposed to leave, but Shawn was there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn seemed to relax at that, enough to calm down from his rant. Lassiter felt his heart swell, just as overwhelmed at everything else and now dealing with the outpouring of concern from Shawn, his anger and worry from looking for him nearly bursting out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m so happy you’re okay, Lassie,” said Shawn, quiet and serious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shawn. Thank you,” he rasped back. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t find it in him to sleep. Every movement felt heavy, every second felt unreal and intense. But he had to tell him thank you. Shawn had </span>
  <em>
    <span>found </span>
  </em>
  <span>him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn shook his head. “We should’ve been quicker. I - I should’ve been </span>
  <em>
    <span>better</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Lassie. It took too much time, and if Gus hadn’t said something that reminded me of half an article I saw Henry waving around - hell, Lassie. What would’ve happened then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn was getting upset again, or maybe Lassiter was projecting, and while Lassiter filed away the means of his rescue for later he tugged on Shawn’s hand, bringing him back to the now familiar bear hug that had brought him back into the real world just half a dozen hours prior. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hug morphed as Shawn shifted, their foreheads naturally touching. The sensation of Shawn’s face so close to his own felt incredibly tender, and Carlton nearly choked up at the emotion. Lightly, almost not at all, their lips brushed in a ghost of a kiss, more for contact than anything else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They broke away after a few minutes of closeness, mutually reassured in each other’s presence, and just in time for the next doctor to come in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Part of the hospital stay had been a mandatory psychological consultation. Shawn offered again to give him some privacy, but stayed after Lassiter gave a sharp look. He felt awful, forcing Shawn to stay by his side, but he needed someone he could trust, that he instinctively knew, by his side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The doctor did an evaluation, talking quickly and efficiently as he assessed Lassiter. After determining that Lassiter wasn’t immediately psychotic or violent, the doctor briefed him on what would likely happen during his recovery. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve been deprived of outside stimuli for over three weeks, which takes a toll mentally, physically, and emotionally. There may not be overt problems or issues right away, but you should expect a certain period of adjustment.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter nodded, already having an idea of the effects he would be dealing with even as the doctor continued. He listened intently, his arms crossed, still absorbing everything he could now that there were things and people around him again, and also because the doctor was frank and fairly unemotional.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My concerns are this: You’ll likely be sensitive to loud noises and crowds, but also quiet and isolation that may trigger memories of your captivity. There are probably other triggers that you will discover. Acute episodes of anxiety may be a result, and possibly culminate into severe, chronic depression. General fatigue, lack of appetite, and weight loss may continue as you recover, but you should monitor yourself and make sure it doesn’t get worse.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The doctor paused and waited for Lassiter’s acknowledgement.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. Now, I see no professional reason to keep you here longer than tomorrow morning, although I do insist that you meet with one of our psychologists before you leave. I will send someone by this afternoon.” The doctor shifted on his feet, impatient but obviously having more to say. “The most important thing you can do is talk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter arched an eyebrow at the man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, you need to verbalize more, but I mean talk about what happened to you. Studies have shown that men, especially in positions of authority like yourself, are more likely to keep things bottled up. Talk to your friend here, talk to a therapist, talk to God. But talk to someone. Any questions?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter shook his head, and on second thought verbalized his answer. “No. Thanks.” He’d spent so long inside his own head that it was no longer a habit to speak out loud, but it was one thing to focus on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The doctor gave a sharp nod and left the room, leaving Lassiter to think over his advice. He knew long term isolation could cause severe psychological issues, and honestly he was lucky to not be completely messed up from the days he spent isolated. It would take time to heal, just like any physical injury. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What a ray of sunshine that guy is,” Shawn joked. He put his hand to his head, mockingly. “I see constipation in his future.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter had seen more than one good cop brought down from mental illness - depression being chief among them. Some sought help and got through it, others bottled it up and it ruined them and their careers. Time. Patience. Being kind to himself. All the crap Lassiter hated and struggled with, he was going to have to adopt because the doctor was right: His goal was normalcy. He was Carlton Lassiter, Head Detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department, and he wasn’t going to be taken down from this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least he wouldn’t be alone. Not anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bracing himself for another doctor to poke at him as someone knocked on his door, Lassiter was pleased to see O’Hara instead, Vick hovering just behind her. He was exhausted and felt like he would fall asleep at any second, but his mind was still going a hundred miles an hour.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Up for a couple visitors, Carlton?” O’Hara asked. “The nurse said it was okay to come in, finally.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter knew that the Chief likely had to show her credentials in order for them to get through, but he was pleased they were there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They entered the room after he nodded and Lassiter felt surprisingly better surrounded by his friends than he had by anyone else. Having three people around him was a lot, but their presence was most welcome. O’Hara sat a bag down with his clothing poking out of it, explaining it was for the morning when he could leave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>O’Hara and Vick stood on the side opposite Shawn, both holding practiced non-threatening poses that they were trained to use on victims. Victims like him. Lassiter noticed this with only a little resentment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A beat of silence permeated the air before Shawn spoke. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to call Gus, I’ll be back in a second,” Shawn said, standing with a questioning look on his face. Carlton let him go with a nod, fine to be with his partner and boss, numb to anything else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How are you?” O’Hara asked, concern evident in her face. She held out her hand, letting Carlton choose to take it and he did, reassured with physical contact. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He beat against the low thrum of anxiety in his gut and tried to focus on the women visiting him - not how vulnerable he felt propped up on a hospital bed next to them. Exhaustion made shifting his position impossible. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking at his partner, who no doubt had been searching for him while holding down the fort at the station as interim Head Detective, he felt pride swell in his chest. As skeptical as he had been when she’d first transferred to Santa Barbara, she’d managed to flourish into an excellent detective while maintaining her empathy. Something he still struggled with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m okay, O’Hara,” he said, his voice still quiet but present. “Really.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He remembered flashes of that morning, images of O’Hara crying, trying to talk to him but being too overwhelmed to respond. The shock of his discovery nearly made him black out, but his own determination to stay awake through everything was barely better. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t tell you how happy we all are to hear that, Detective,” said the Chief. “I don’t want to keep you, but just so you’re aware, this situation has made headlines. It’s not every day a Head Detective goes missing and comes back to us in one piece.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carlton acknowledged that with a nod. “No comment,” he said, a quiet joke that made both women smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly. I have to go and control the media storm, but I expect to see you for a full debrief in a few days. And, Carlton,” she said while walking out the door. “Take care of yourself.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was alone with O’Hara, and part of him was starting to feel anxious at the rapid change in people, but he breathed through it, quickly paying attention to his partner’s face, waiting for her to speak and - oh. She was about to cry again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“O’Hara…” he said, uncomfortable with the emotion, but not blaming her for it. He expected something like this anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Carlton,” she sniffed, wiping away a tear with her free hand. “For - for everything! We messed up and took too long, we could’ve done more, we should’ve found you sooner. Shawn was right,” she gestured to the hallway where he was visible through the window. “We weren’t good enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“O’Hara, no,” he said, tugging her attention back to him. “There were no leads. He didn’t leave any clues.” Carlton smiled slightly, tiredly. “Believe me, I had plenty of time to think about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>O’Hara laughed, quickly morphing into a sob. He accepted her hug, more than relieved that his partner was okay and that he was here to see it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Life wasn’t like the movies. O’Hara still had a job to do, so Carlton stayed strong for her in the moment so she could get back to work. She didn’t need to see him like this, weak and broken. He was close to tears himself, even with her hug and reassurance, and it was a relief when Shawn came back into the room complaining about Guster not delivering Quatro Quesos Dos Fritos for them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It felt almost normal for a split second, listing to Shawn rant about food and bring up his stupid snack zipline idea adapted for hospital rooms. Lassiter looked out the large window to his left, taking in the broad expanse of a midday sky, and let Shawn’s rant fill the space around them. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Appointment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: Therapy situation, discussion of stress, suicidal thoughts, talk of self-harm. Basically therapy porn. </p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lassiter watched as Shawn began to get antsy. His leg was bouncing uncontrollably, and even as he made smalltalk with Lassiter he kept glancing at his phone and the door with increased frequency. It was no fault of Shawn’s - Lassiter had practically forced him to stay around him all day. Just before Lassiter was about to tell Shawn to go, a new doctor walked into his hospital room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, I’m Dr. Robin, Dr. Patel may have mentioned I’d be over?” the woman introduced herself, shaking Lassiter’s hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inwardly, Lassiter rolled his eyes. The shrink was here to assess just how crazy he was after all this. Logically he knew he needed to talk to someone, just like the guy earlier had said, but he’d never been one to revel in therapy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn stood up and nearly vibrated with the need to leave the room. Lassiter felt like he kept him long enough, and to be honest he felt more capable of coping without Shawn now. His brain, the roaring of anxiety and panic that had come to a head earlier that day, had gone relatively quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Shawn could speak, Lassiter let him off the hook. “Go get some food, I’ll be fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn grasped Lassiter’s hand and hesitated, just briefly enough to make sure Lassiter was okay. “You sure Lassie?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At his nod, Shawn quickly bounced toward the door, then bounced back to Lassiter’s bedside, planted a kiss on his forehead, then disappeared out of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter looked up at Dr. Robin and saw her watching with a slight smile on her face. He was relieved, not even knowing he was tense in the first place. With him and Shawn - especially now and so suddenly - he hadn’t even considered the risk of homophobes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought was derailed with the doctor moving Shawn’s chair toward the wall, arranging it across from a bigger chair by the window. Before he could ask, she sat in the chair and beckoned him over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re up to it, would you like to sit over here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not feeling like he had the energy to move, but wanting to get out of the bed, Lassiter nodded and carefully got up. He did feel… weaker than normal, and he didn’t want to do something idiotic like pass out infront of the shrink. That’d give him a good score on the nutjob scale for sure.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he got settled in the chair facing her he took a breath and realized he felt better, more human, just sitting in the chair. How messed up was he to not think of that earlier? Well, he supposed, I’m about to find out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Carlton, nice to meet you,” Dr. Robin started. “I specialize in long-term trauma survivors, and I’m here to assess where you’re at right now so we can see where to go in the future. I’ve already been briefed on your general situation, but I would like to hear it from you. Now, you are a detective?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter nodded. “Head Detective, SBPD,” he corrected quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see,” the doctor made a small note. “And you were held for how long?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Twenty-three days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And where were you held?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said you were already briefed,” Lassiter said testily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Robin smiled. “I also said I wanted to hear it from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed in response, not particularly enjoying the path this was headed down. “A small room, with a locked door, a cot and a toilet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how did you feel while you were there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just peachy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Robin lowered her notes slightly and looked at Lassiter head on. “You went through a traumatic experience, Detective Lassiter. I know you’re likely feeling defensive right now, but that isn’t going to help you out in the long run.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he said pointedly, “I felt like I was trapped. Because I was.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And now that you have been through this experience, how are you feeling today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter stared at her in answer. How the hell does she expect me to feel? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand that as a member of law enforcement, you’ve dealt with traumas before, both as a witness and a survivor. But coming to terms with a long-term traumatic experience like this will feel different.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop saying traumatic,” Lassiter snapped. “I wasn’t beaten or shot or anything. I was just... held there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Against your will?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter blinked at the question. “Well, yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were taken and held captive in isolation for nearly a month, and that wasn’t traumatic?” Dr. Robin waited a beat before she continued, shifting visibly in the chair. “I presume that you want to continue being the Head Detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you need to do this work now and be open to more work down the road, or whatever your mental state is right now will worsen and prevent you from doing your job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter sagged slightly in the chair. He was no stranger to counselors. He’d had to talk to someone in the department as mandated after he discharged his weapon, and he went through months of fruitless marriage counseling with Victoria. But he’d also seen what trauma did to other cops in the field, and he didn’t want to go down that route either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silently, he sized up Dr. Robin. She was tall and slight, a little older than him and obviously experienced in the field judging by her no-nonsense attitude. If she had a plan to get him back to the SBPD, then he’d better listen to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, doc, what do you need to know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Robin smiled and sat back, her clipboard back to its original position on her knee. “Good. I’ll tell it to you straight. Survivors of long term isolation and kidnapping have a variety of post-trauma responses. Knowing where you’re at can help establish how to support you through recovering.” She waited for him to nod, then continued. “I have a feeling that you’re a man who gets to the point, so how about I just ask you some questions and you respond as honestly as you can. Sound doable?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” Questions he could do. Hell of a lot better than just… talking about his emotions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” She flipped a page around on her clipboard. “In the place where you were held, what sort of emotions did you experience? You can just list them if you prefer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could do that. The past was past, so what did it matter to reveal this part of himself? “Anger. Isolation. Rage,” he shrugged. “Loneliness. I slept a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you feeling aggressive right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I feel almost… calm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It sounds like that bothers you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not usually like that,” he said, surprised at his own observation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Robin nodded and made a note. “Are you angry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angry and calm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just because I’m angry at the sonofabitch who did this doesn’t mean I have to act on it right now,” he said forcefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s… surprisingly healthy, Carlton.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter didn’t know how to respond to that so he said nothing, and Dr. Robin moved on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Studies in prison have shown that the greater social deprivation that occurs, the more people are inclined to be withdrawn both during and after their isolation due to the chronic stress of imprisonment. I know your situation was a little different. Being isolated is extremely stressful on the mind and the body.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Body?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Not only the physical aspect of being detained in a small area has its effects, but stress itself taxes the body in different ways. Fatigue, heart palpitations, muscle weakness, weight loss - did you experience those types of things?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haltingly, Lassiter nodded. It felt… good to hear that what he went through and what he felt was, for lack of a better term, normal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you self harm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter looked up from his thoughts at the question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a common coping activity, especially in times of extreme stress.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No.” Lassiter responded. “I didn’t… cut myself or anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you consider harming yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought about escape routes,” Lassiter found himself admitting. “Ways… out, if it went on too long. But I didn’t act on them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Robin made a few notes on her clipboard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not,” Lassiter started, suddenly concerned that he would be thrown in a padded room. “I’m not suicidal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor looked up and made eye contact. “I believe you, Carlton. Believe it or not, everything you’ve said so far has been on track as far as similar cases I’ve seen. I’m not going to lock you up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter relaxed at that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I do recommend you continue with therapy as you transition out of your trauma and into the future. Depression, mild to severe, isn’t uncommon in these kinds of cases, and you’ll need to monitor it.” Dr. Robin took a moment and continued in a gentle voice. “Sit with this new reality for a second: Along with depression and anxiety there’s guilt, fear, shame, rage, feeling vulnerable, panic attacks - almost anything is on the table when we’re talking about PTSD.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter’s eyes widened slightly as he took that in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To treat it early - which is lucky enough - is the best case scenario. You put in the work, and you can move past this and get back to your life. Both professionally and personally.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter ignored the heat on his cheeks at the reference to Shawn, but he accepted what she was saying. Submit to therapy, get better. “So I’m not going to be a nutjob because of all this?” he found himself asking seriously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor shifted in her seat, crossing the other leg as she got more comfortable. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, and Lassiter soaked up all the colors of the sky he hadn’t seen in so long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Imprisonment doesn’t generally make people crazy. But there is proof of psychological harm that can come from the types of things you went through which translates to long-lasting change.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When someone is institutionalized, for example, they gradually transform and become accustomed to the restrictions of their new situation. Those new behaviors can become natural very quickly, and while survivors of that do change, they may not be aware of the full effect of that change or even, really, that they’ve changed at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter stared at the sunset as she spoke. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Have I changed?</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought to himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>More importantly - in what way?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, well,” Dr. Robin wrapped up. “This was an excellent first meeting. I want to see you again in about a week, but I have no issue with you returning home in the morning. Now, I generally recommend that patients not be alone for at least a little while after something like this occurs. Do you have someone to stay with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Absently, Lassiter nodded. Shawn had already said something about sleepover parties or some other nonsense about being with him. “Yeah, I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent. I’m going to leave my card on the table. Call my office in the next day or two and we’ll set up an appointment. Carlton,” she perched on the edge of the seat, about to leave, and got Lassiter’s attention. “Between now and then, be patient with yourself. Don’t be afraid to feel your feelings, don’t judge yourself for what you do feel, and breathe through it. You are going to be okay, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter half smiled at the advice and acknowledged her words. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the doctor left the room, Lassiter turned back to the window and watched the sun sink over the ocean. He was out, and he was going to be okay. Even if he had to struggle through the process of “feeling his feelings,” which, as awful as it sounded, he felt ready to do.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>and thanks to @otavah, as literally always, for their beta work</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Advice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Shawn needs to process // Thanks as always to @otava</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shawn had felt like he was having an out of body experience the entire day. He wasn’t lying when he told Lassie how hard it had been to wait outside the warehouse. It was only minutes after they went in that SWAT came out with Jernon in custody, and he spared the criminal a harsh glare before searching for any sign of Lassie. </p>
<p>They hadn’t found Lassie in the first search, but Shawn was undeterred. They were only in there a few minutes and there must have been loads of places they still hadn’t looked. As the team was coordinating a more thorough search, he darted inside with Gus on his tail, observing and deducting the best place to hide Lassie away.</p>
<p>Shawn had spotted a weird looking door with a huge lock on it, a dead giveaway that something important was behind there, and he was nearly positive it had to be Lassie. </p>
<p>It had to be. He had to be okay. He had to be in there, and whole, and just fine, and there was no alternative. </p>
<p>
  <em>“Gus, can you crack it?” He pointed at the lock and got an affronted noise in response.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Please,” responded Gus, already warming up his lock-cracking fingers. “Child’s play.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Shawn looked around helplessly for a second before simply knocking on the door. “Lassie?” There was a slot of some kind at the bottom of the door, and he figured out how to open it up, trying not to imagine why it was there in the first place. He dropped to the floor, trying to see into the dark room through the small opening. “Lassie, you in there?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He could barely make out faint shapes in the dark room, but he was sure he heard something move. Shawn hopped back up, more frantic. “Gus, hurry up with the lock already!”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Shh!” replied Gus, his ear to the lock. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Wait,” he said, his eyes stopping on a crude switch a few feet away - outside the door. “Is that a lightswitch?” He flicked it and the slot lit up, and he wasted no time in diving back to the floor. </em>
</p>
<p>That’s when he saw his Lassie. </p>
<p>The absolute rush of emotion that came with seeing him alive had kept him on cloud nine all day, even with all the other stress going on. He barely held himself back once Gus had the door open, and that didn’t last long anyway. Lassie was there, albeit looking confused, and scruffy, and… sleepy? It didn’t matter - he had to get his hands on the man they’d been searching for for twenty-three days. </p>
<p>It wasn’t until he was right in front of him that Shawn felt how scared he’d been that Lassie had been dead. He had worked so hard to repress the very thought that it had been building up and up inside him.</p>
<p>It had taken forever to track down Jernon’s whereabouts once they figured out that he was the guy. He had no contacts and no one had seen him since he was released from prison, which meant he could be anywhere. But Shawn had a feeling that he hadn’t taken Lassie far, and he was right. The warehouse that a few unsavory members of the population had brought them to proved to be the location after Shawn and Gus staked it out for a few hours late that night. </p>
<p>As soon as he saw a man who matched Jernon’s description slip in a side door, he called Jules and the Chief. They didn’t argue with his assertion that this was the place, and in no time they had a team ready to go in. </p>
<p>Shawn wanted nothing more than to rush in immediately, but this was Lassie’s life at stake. Any wrong move could be… he didn’t want to think about it. </p>
<p>Then he got to hold Lassie in his arms - real, solid, and alive. He’d never felt relief like that, visceral and overwhelming emotions that made him just cling to another person like that. And Lassie clinged right back, and for the first time in twenty-three days things felt right again. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>The hospital was a blur. All Shawn could focus on was Lassie, and it seemed like Lassie couldn’t focus on anything at all. Nurses tried a few times to get their new patient alone so they could run tests, but each time Lassie wouldn’t let go of Shawn’s hand. </p>
<p>Shawn felt like the chosen one, except instead of having magic powers or harnessing the one true ring, he was who Lassie held on to. That meant something big and scary. Something like Lassie having trust in him. </p>
<p>Lassie was mostly quiet, too, which unnerved Shawn more than he cared to admit. Lassie wasn’t exactly known for being talkative, but this was a different kind of silence. He barely responded to the nurses and doctors, answering only direct questions and in a quiet voice. Lassie wasn’t supposed to be so quiet. Lassie was supposed to be loud and annoyed at people’s general incompetence. But his Lassie was still in there. </p>
<p>Shawn saw him gradually relax throughout the day, the stress lines in his bearded face slowly faded, revealing the tired, haunted man underneath. The long shower he took helped a lot. </p>
<p>He looked so different, even in the time he was gone. He lost weight, which made his skinny frame look gaunt, and when he moved it was slow and looked like it took too much effort. It felt wrong to see him on a hospital bed, but even the greatest people he knew seemed reduced when in the hospital. Soon enough, Lassie would be able to go home and he… he would… well. Shawn would be going with him. </p>
<p>Shawn tried to leave a few times to give Lassie privacy, but he was always reluctant to go. At one point while they both watched the drone of bad daytime TV while waiting for the next visitor, Shawn stood and stretched, needing the bathroom and a quick walk . </p>
<p>He made it to the door before Lassie got his attention, and when he turned back it was to wide eyes and a panicked look on his face. <em>Oh, Lassie. </em></p>
<p>Shawn quickly hopped back to the bed and took his hand. “Hey, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere until you tell me to, alright?” He didn’t want to leave anyway, afraid that he’d blink and Lassie would be gone. </p>
<p>Lassie nodded and looked grateful. </p>
<p>“Was kind of… out of it. Earlier.” Lassiter looked like he was forcing the words out. “When I kept you here.”</p>
<p>“It’s okay, Lassiepants-with-no-pants. If you hadn’t dragged me along all day I’d still be here to harass you.” Shawn didn’t want to leave him alone anyway. Now that he was back, he couldn’t imagine just… leaving him in the hospital and going back to his office or anything. </p>
<p>He ended up staying put until there were more people in the room, taking a break from clingy-Lassie just to breathe, knowing that he was in good hands with Jules and the Chief there at his side. </p>
<p>Everything about this situation was difficult and terrible and still extremely wonderful because Lassie was gonna be okay, but it all made Shawn want to run and hide until things were normal again. But Lassie chose him to stay, so stay he would.</p>
<p>If he really had his way, he’d crawl into that hospital bed with his Lassie and cling on to him and never, ever let go. Because even if they weren’t officially going steady before Lassie got Lassie-napped, Lassie was his Lassie and even Lassie wasn’t gonna get in the way of all the Lassie time he was planning on having. </p>
<p>Shawn went to the bathroom then called Gus, needing the voice of his friend to calm him down. As soon as they had gotten Lassie to the hospital early that morning, Gus had gone home to get some sleep.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Hey Shawn, how’s Lassiter doing?”</em>
</p>
<p>Shawn sat down in a relatively quiet area down the hall. He hated hospitals, and he hated that Lassie was in one. “He’s okay. Physically, anyway. He’s a little off and weird though. But he’s still Lassie.”</p>
<p>
  <em>“The man was held in a cell for over twenty days, it’s gonna take some time for him to work that out. Have you gotten some rest?”</em>
</p>
<p>“No, there hasn’t been time. Jules and the Chief are in there right now, but he doesn’t like being left alone so I’m going back in a bit.” Shawn sighed and rubbed his face with his free hand and stood, restless. “It’s so heavy in there, man. I don’t know… He keeps wanting me to stay with him.”</p>
<p>
  <em>“Do you not want to?”</em>
</p>
<p>“Of course I do! Lassie is here and he’s alive and he’s Lassie - of course I want to be around him! </p>
<p>“<em>Gross</em>,” Gus acknowledged.</p>
<p>“It’s just a lot to take on.” Shawn felt like an ass, complaining about being wanted, but the weight of the responsibility was killing him.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Look, Shawn. Lassiter likes you, and he obviously trusts you with whatever he’s going through right now. You don’t have to move mountains for the guy, just sit with him and talk to him and be there for him. That’s it.”</em>
</p>
<p>“That’s it,” Shawn repeated. “Sounds easy enough. I can do that.”</p>
<p>
  <em>“You know that’s right. Alright, I gotta get back on my route. I have to make up for this week.”</em>
</p>
<p>“Have fun terrorizing local doctors, buddy,” Shawn joked half-heartedly and hung up. By his estimations Jules would still be in with Lassie for a while, long enough to get a sandwich from downstairs and try to find a good vending machine for snacks. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>As scary as the day had been, Shawn had a reasonable feeling that he could do whatever Lassie needed. As long as it wasn’t too weird or scary or anything. </p>
<p>He never had been the caretaker type, but as flippant as Shawn projected himself to be, he knew all about PTSD. Not that he was doing seminars or marching in parades - though if there <em>were</em> a parade he’d be on board - but he’d lived through the nightmares and sleeplessness and weird triggers and all the stuff it entailed himself. </p>
<p>He also knew that <em>anyone</em> could get messed up from anything if it hit them wrong. His mother had ingrained that in him from a young age, which was probably one of the things that messed him up too. How ironical. </p>
<p>Shawn had seen Juliet go through it with the Yang cases, had felt it himself with those cases and with getting kidnapped and shot. Hell, he had nightmares about a lot of what he’d witnessed over the years, from people falling out of balconies to being held and gunpoint more than he’d like to acknowledge. </p>
<p>But he knew that being alone after something bad sucked. Putting that together with Lassie’s desire to keep him close, Shawn was more than happy to stay with Lassie however long he wanted. He was a pro at sleepovers.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>After the whole day of poking and prodding and scary discussions and visitors and a therapy session, Lassie looked more than ready to fall asleep, but he was stubbornly keeping his eyes on the bad movie playing on TV. </p>
<p>Shawn was sitting close by, for once not holding Lassie’s hand as he stared at the small TV across the room. The touching was… newish. It had been a long time since he really got handsy with anyone, aside from his usual psychic shenanigans, but Shawn wasn’t complaining. </p>
<p>Up until kissing him in the file room - which hey, <em>that</em> still needed to be talked about - Shawn was taking his mission to woo Lassie seriously and slowly, unlike anything he’d done before. </p>
<p>Shawn looked back to Lassie, about to ask him something alluding to possible, future hanky-panky, but instead he saw a glazed look on his face. </p>
<p>“You good, Lassie?”</p>
<p>He jumped slightly at Shawn’s question. “Yes,” he replied, his eyes landing on Shawn once more, deflating slightly from his automatic defensive reflex. “I want to go home.”</p>
<p>Shawn nodded, knowing the feeling. “Docs say tomorrow morning.”</p>
<p>“No reason I can’t go home tonight.” Lassie said it with quiet conviction, but he didn’t move from where he was in bed. </p>
<p>Shawn thought about it for a second, wanting nothing more than to break Lassie out of there and bundle him home, warm and safe, but the doctors were still running blood tests and everything. “They wanna make sure you don’t spontaneously combust or something.” </p>
<p>“Come on, Shawn,” Lassie said quietly. “I can’t just…” he gestured helplessly, </p>
<p>“You <em>can</em>, Lassie,” Shawn said, careful to avoid saying that he was trapped in the room or that he couldn’t leave. He could read the room on occasion, and it was a little too soon for jokes. “You can get some sleep, make sure you’re solid in the morning, then we can blow this taco stand and get you home.” He tilted his head. “Maybe get tacos on the way.”</p>
<p>Lassie fell back on the bed, and Shawn hoped he would get some rest. He was feeling all sorts of… feelings that felt weird and domestic and caring, and he didn’t know how much longer he could last acting as Lassie’s emotional support without completely flipping out. So far, so good. </p>
<p>Silence fell between them, the drone from the television low and welcome in the background, and Shawn was nearly lulled into a sleep that he hadn’t had in almost three weeks. Then Lassie started to fidget. </p>
<p>After a minute of fidgeting, Shawn interrupted his thoughts with his usual amount of insight. </p>
<p>“What’s on your mind, Lassieface? You can tell me anything.”</p>
<p>He shrugged, looking like he was trying to find the words, which meant he thought it was something embarrassing. </p>
<p>“If you feel weird I’ll tell you something too. Tack for toe.”</p>
<p>“Tit for tat,” Lassie replied automatically, making Shawn smile widely at him.</p>
<p>“I’ve heard it both ways,” he said, inciting the eye roll from Lassie he was so obviously after. Shawn scooted forward to the bed and took his hand again. “Thing one, Lassiekins, I’ve missed that face of yours. A lot. Even when you roll your eyes at my hilarious jokes.”</p>
<p>Lassie squeezed his hand back, again soaking in the contact just like Shawn was. They’d been thrust into an insane, scary situation and were both still reeling, but whatever they had in that contact - Shawn could feel it was good. It made him… hopeful for this thing between them. Whatever it was turning into. </p>
<p>“Now your turn, how are ya feelin’?” Shawn was banking on Lassie wanting to talk to him, to really talk. Open up. Spew feelings.</p>
<p>Lassiter sighed, eyes darting around the room before he spoke. “I feel restless,” he said quietly. “But also like I can’t move. I hate being here, but I don’t want to leave. I want to sleep until tomorrow, but I don’t want to close my eyes.”</p>
<p>Shawn took that in seriously, weighing a response. He settled on the truth. “Because part of you is afraid that this day has been a dream, and you’ll just wake up back in that room tomorrow morning. I get it.”</p>
<p>Lassie tightened his grip on Shawn’s hand at the reference to his own abduction a few years ago. Even though it wasn’t as long or isolating as Lassie’s, he still had to deal with the fallout all alone. </p>
<p>“I know you don’t really want to hear this Lass, but it does get better. It just takes some time. You’ve barely been back a day, not even yet, and it’s gonna take a bit to feel on level again.”</p>
<p>Shawn came to a frank realization that Lassie didn’t have someone to call in the middle of the night. His family wasn’t the type to comfort, and his friend list was short. But he could be that person. Lassie’s person. </p>
<p>He originally wanted to be that person for fun sexy times, but he would be there for the hard stuff too. That’s what adults did, right? When they cared about someone for realsies, and not just for funsies? </p>
<p>He cared about Lassie for realsies and funsies. That meant it was time to be adultsies about it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>After an uncomfortable and endless night at the hospital, Lassiter was finally, finally home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctors had let him go after determining that he wasn’t going to drop dead of malnutrition or some weird disease, and he was more than pleased to put on the clean clothes that O’Hara had brought him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Guster had driven him and Shawn to his home, and while part of him expected Shawn to leave with his friend he stayed. Guster had even brought Shawn a bag so he could stay for a few nights, “While you get yourself all correctamundo, Lassie!” Whatever that meant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brief periods he’d been alone in the last twenty-four hours had felt tense, like he could turn around and have it all be a dream. But Shawn’s surprisingly helpful and serious advice was right, it would take time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time. It was all he’d had before, a clock counting down to an unknown hour while he was trapped in a cell, waiting for his death or release. Now time had flipped over on itself, offering a path out of the darkness. And damn if he wasn’t going to take that option. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>O’Hara had volunteered to clean out his fridge and stock up on groceries including, he saw, a whole pineapple for Shawn. Now that he was home, and Shawn was there, it was good but still felt… off. He had finally gotten back to comfortable and familiar space, but he had nothing to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span>. No job to focus on. Nothing to be constructive about besides “feeling better” which felt more like a crock of crap the longer he thought of the phrase. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling </span>
  <em>
    <span>better</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Better than what - than feeling like he’d been held captive for twenty-three days straight with little human contact and no outside stimuli? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Better was a relative term. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>instantly</span>
  </em>
  <span> better the moment that door opened, better as soon as Shawn wrapped his arms around him, better when he got home. But he wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal </span>
  </em>
  <span>yet. Far from it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter felt… sensitive, he supposed, to all the stimulation around him. He craved it after the nothingness of a white room, and was hyper aware of it, but it was easily overwhelming at times. The stark white walls in the hospital had been unsettling, but he was so obviously in the hospital surrounded by people that he hadn’t had many issues. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Shawn had been a constant, which both comforted him and unsettled him. But the comfort outweighed the rest of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hospital was a liminal space, and now that he was out again he felt completely untethered. It wasn’t until he’d gotten out that he realized how alone he was - it wasn’t just loneliness, it was that he really didn’t have anyone. No one to come home to, no one to call up and chat with who wasn’t a work relation or his distant family, and there was no way he was calling anyone he was related to just to ‘chat.’ Even Shawn’s presence felt temporary and full of pity, despite the reassurances given to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he realized that Shawn actually intended on staying with him, he’d been bombarded with guilt. His Irish Catholic upbringing taught him not to ask for help, especially about his </span>
  <em>
    <span>emotions</span>
  </em>
  <span>, emotions that he shouldn’t have anyway. Clinging on to Shawn for the past day had been bad enough, but Shawn held on right back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next thing he did, after double checking all of his firearms and coming up with a plan to clean and service all eight in the next few days, was attack and shave the beard that had gone unchecked for three weeks. It had been driving him crazy - though it wasn’t the main factor - but it was one he could control now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he was alone in the bathroom, acknowledging the simple pleasure of having a separate bathroom with all the amenities, he could hear Spencer making noise around his house, turning on the TV and poking around his belongings. He wasn’t sure if Shawn was doing it on purpose or not, but the reassurance that he wasn’t alone along with the open door to the bathroom helped him maintain his calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lassie!” screeched Shawn from the kitchen he’d just left in favor of his couch. “Jules got a pineapple! Want a fresh slice?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The banging and muttering from the kitchen told him that, regardless of his answer to that question, Shawn was intent on slicing up the fruit anyway, so he didn’t bother with a response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, freshly shaved and feeling more like normal, he kicked up his feet and turned on the TV to search for </span>
  <em>
    <span>COPS</span>
  </em>
  <span>, thankful as ever to O’Hara for making sure his bills got paid at the end of last month. They were on an automatic system, but she had reassured him that she checked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the little stuff like that that gave him pause. Two days before, he was sitting in a room with no hope of escape. Then suddenly he was thrust back into the real world, discovering at every turn that he had people who cared about him. Hell, even Guster was showing up in support.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What a world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn came into the living room with perfect rings of pineapple on a plate and two forks, and Lassiter had never seen something so delicious. The pineapple, not Shawn, though he wouldn’t say Shawn didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>look…</span>
  </em>
  <span> ahem. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They watched a </span>
  <em>
    <span>COPS </span>
  </em>
  <span>marathon for hours and Carlton slowly relaxed. Lunch and dinner were both simple affairs, and they barely moved from the couch. Neither had much energy or motivation to do anything else anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt normal, and if he concentrated on the feeling it was just another movie night with Shawn. He itched for contact, wanting Shawn to put his arm around him or vice versa, but he settled for their legs touching when Shawn had come back to the couch with kettle corn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carlton could tell Shawn was trying to project normalcy too, and he was grateful for it even if it felt a little forced at times. A normal Shawn would’ve fought for the remote after the second </span>
  <em>
    <span>COPS </span>
  </em>
  <span>to find some stupid movie instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, with a dramatized yawn and stretch from Shawn, they both decided it was time to throw in the towel. Shawn automatically made up the couch to sleep on, leaving Lassiter to wonder if he would have invited him to bed if given the option.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he stretched out in his own bed, Lassiter felt content and safe. He was home and comfortable, and Shawn was on his couch. His last thought before falling asleep was about cooking breakfast in the morning for both of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was all a lie - an escape his mind made while unconscious. Carlton was crushed, but he knew it was too good to be true. It would never be so easy - Shawn finding him, being saved, being okay, watching </span>
  </em>
  <span>COPS</span>
  <em>
    <span> like everything was normal. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It wasn’t normal. He opened his eyes, knowing immediately he was still in that goddamned white walled cell with the awful, locked door to stare at all day. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He thrashed on his cot, screaming out his frustration. He was going to die in this damn cell! He was going insane, and no one was looking for him! Carlton stood, livid and scared, ignoring the tears streaming down his face, and made for the metal door. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Jernon! You son of a bitch!” he yelled, banging his fists against the door. “Let me out of here! Face me like a man, goddamnit!” He couldn’t breathe, trapped in the tiny room, the walls were closing in on him, and he would be crushed to death and he couldn’t escape. “Ahh</span>
  </em>
  <span>hhh!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lassie!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carlton shot up in bed, panting, a scream caught on his breath. His eyes looked wildly around, noticing the room he was in only after a few seconds. The hallway light spilled into his bedroom, illuminating Shawn who stood near his bed, his hands outstretched, waiting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shawn?” His senses back, he realized he had a nightmare and Shawn woke him up. It was just a dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You good, Lassie? It was just a dream, you’re back home now,” Shawn said, moving closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” Carlton slumped into his hands, still reeling from the nightmare, and Shawn sat on the edge of the bed next to him. When he didn’t startle at the closeness, he felt Shawn lay a tentative hand on his back. He tried to take deep breaths to calm down, but if anything his tears increased, causing him to shake. “I dreamt I was back there. I woke up and this was all a fake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, Lassieface, it’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he said again, his voice cracking. Before he could take another breath, Shawn hailed him in close and wrapped him in a tight hug. Carlton didn’t hesitate, turning in to the warm body and clutching Shawn's shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s gonna be okay Lassie, just takes some time. That’s right, breathe easy, you got it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Carlton stopped shaking and was able to breathe again. Shawn loosened his grip but didn’t let go, instead shifting into a more comfortable position. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carlton rested his head on Shawn’s shoulder, breathing in his scent. He felt Shawn shift and kiss his hair softly. They’d only been this close a few times, each out of comfort. But this time there wasn’t a hoard of cops or a hospital full of people to interrupt their contact, and he wasn’t about to let go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Shawn,” he sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem, Lassie. Saw it on an episode of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Grey’s Anatomy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hugging has magical powers to calm people down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carlton rolled his eyes, secretly amused at Shawn lightening the mood. “Sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, Lassie, would it be kosher if I stayed here tonight? Like, here, here, all snuggled up next to you in your surprisingly plush queen bed?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carlton thought for a second, hesitant to say yes so quickly. He wasn't exactly... up for anything. Not yet. And he was still so, so tired. But having someone near, having </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shawn </span>
  </em>
  <span>near sounded good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn pulled back slightly. “No hanky-panky, funny business, or macarana Lass. Just sleep, and that’s my promise to you.” He ended the sentence with an annoyingly sweet boop to Lassie's nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, alright,” he said. Carlton leaned back and scooted over, making room for Shawn as he got under the covers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were on their sides facing each other with just enough light to see the others face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for being here,” Carlton said again. He had no idea why Shawn would voluntarily stick around now, not while he was still so messed up. It couldn’t be fun for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn slid a hand closer and found Carlton’s, grasping tight before settling on a loose hold. “Like I said before, I’m not going anywhere Lassie. It sucks being alone like this, so unless I’m annoying you, I’m here to hang.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carlton sighed at that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Plus,” Shawn said in a lighter tone, “I managed to work my way into your bed on night one! I’d say I’m doing pretty good for myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blush Carlton felt at that dispelled the rest of his leftover anxiety from the dream, filling it with a new, not entirely unwanted heat. “Spencer,” he complained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Shawn jokes quietly. “If you think my intentions are pure in this game, no funny business tonight aside, then you’re sorely mistaken Lassie-bear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if I’ll be normal again, Shawn. I could be messed up forever. I don’t feel right,” Lassiter nearly whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lassie, if you felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span> right now I’d call the nice men in the white clothes to give you many drugs, because you’d be crazy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not like you, I can’t just put up a front until I’m back to normal. I can’t fake it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When have I ever put up a front, Lassie? I’m as transparent as they come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After you got shot. With Yang, Yin, every time you’re in immediate danger, every day at the station… I could go on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I rather you wouldn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just don’t know what to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As Dr. House would say, let’s treat the symptoms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter rolled his eyes again, feeling out of practice. “Have you just been watching medical dramas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The whole solving vibe of procedural shows has helped me out, and I’d already caught up on </span>
  <em>
    <span>NCIS</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Lassie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassie smirked and inwardly warmed as he thought about Shawn working to find him. He squeezed his hand at the thought. “Yeah, okay. Treat the symptoms, how do we do that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One thing at a time. Like the hugging.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spencer you can’t be here every second to… try and fix me via hugs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” Shawn sounded nearly offended at the idea. “I’ve got loads of free time. And if you’re forgetting, I want to be here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need your pity, friendship or not.” Lassiter felt it had to be said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you need then? It’s not pity, Lassie,” he said sincerely. “I wanna be here. It’s either here or alone in the office or at home, and I for one enjoy being around you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about Guster and psych?” Shawn couldn’t just abandon his life for who knew how long just to be around him. It was unrealistic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gus is busy. Ever since your case started… I kind of pushed him away. He thought I was too obsessed. And he’s been seeing this girl named Jessica, and I think she’s really good for him too. Plus, he totally knows about us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And everyone else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lassie,” Shawn sighed in the darkness, moving closer to him on the bed. Their knees knocked together. “You’re not the last on my list of people I want to be around. In fact you’re pretty damn near the top these days. Why are you acting like you don’t matter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Lassiter whispered, thankful for the relative cover darkness provided him. “I guess it’s just what I’m used to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, Lassie,” Shawn breathed. “That calls for another hug I think.” Before he could respond, Shawn once again got his arms around him. “I don’t want you to be used to being left out, Lassieface. No more of that nonsense, because you have a small army of people who love you and want you happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lasssiter nodded against Shawn’s shoulder, feeling shaken with the conversation. He didn’t expect this night to go here, he didn't expect Shawn to say these things. He didn’t expect the way it made him feel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shifting slightly, Shawn captured his lips, kissing him slow and long. Lassiter responded, opening his mouth to Shawn, sliding their tongues together for the first time. Shawn controlled the pace and Lassiter let him, even as they slowed and parted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That okay too?” Shawn breathed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmmhmm,” he replied, nearly back to sleep, warm and comfortable in Shawn’s arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter drifted off, feeling safe for the first time in weeks. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for reading as always! let me know what you thing now that Lassie's "back"<br/>and thank you to @otava</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Elephant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next day dawned bright and way too early for Shawn, but he got up anyway. He’d had the best sleep ever, finally relaxed and content with Lassie back and safe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Having his arms wrapped around him all night was a solid bonus, and he could hardly say no when Lassie lured him out of bed with the promise of pancakes and coffee, the latter of which Lassie nearly moaned when he said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn could barely think of poor Lassie with no coffee for that long. It made him consider exactly what he’d gone through while in Jernon’s cell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d been there through the initial statement, as short and quiet as it had been said by Lassie in the hospital. His nightmare during that night had been an awful thing to witness, leaving Shawn just as shaken as Lassie had been in the aftermath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was happy that Lassie let him sleep in the bed last night, but he was worried. Lassie put up his big manly front most of the time, and Shawn could see him try to muster through the bad stuff in his brain and try to repress all of it. Which, hell, he didn’t blame the guy, but that’s also how you went all nutso-crazy after going through something bad. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s why Shawn let his feelings out like a normal person: By watching </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sixteen Candles, </span>
  </em>
  <span>crying, and eating his weight in pineapple fro-yo until he felt better. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That particular strategy helped after he had nightmares about getting shot, post the Yin-Yang fiascos, and on day four of Lassie’s disappearance when he really got scared that they wouldn’t find him in time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Lassie didn’t have Molly Ringwald to sympathize with or fro-yo to ingest. If he had thought about it a year ago, he’d say Lassie’s go-to’s to relax would be shooting things at the shooting range and… that was probably it. But as they had gotten closer the last couple of months, the real Lassie has slowly come out. The Lassie who liked movie nights and talking about stupid criminal stories over dinner, the Lassie who had made the first move - </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lassie was hurting and Shawn didn’t know how to help other than to just be there, and maybe try and get him to talk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which is exactly what he did that afternoon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They spent a quiet morning not doing much. Lassie made coffee and had Shawn help with pancakes, which Shawn supplemented with the leftover pineapple from the night before. Shawn felt like they were both sort of floating in space, trying to recover and get their bearings in this new world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn sort of expected Lassie to jump at the chance to go to the station, but he didn’t mention leaving the house at all. He didn’t even look at his most wanted wall, which he always liked to do. He just sort of… went around his house and did boring stuff, like organizing the mail that had piled up and doing dishes. Like he was waiting for something to happen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt a little restless, just watching Lassie do little chores and things. It’s not like Shawn wanted to run, but he felt like there was something big and looming and unaddressed. Shawn thought Lassie needed to talk, but there was something churning in his gut too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They settled into the couch for lunch, and after that, Lassie found an old shoot-em-up Western movie he seemed to like. Maybe those were his Ringwald movies after all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, Lassiekins,” Shawn said, his head lolling back on the couch after a cowboy on screen started gambling in a bar, his hand very casually resting on Lassie’s warm thigh. “Remember what the doc said yesterday?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Which one?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The head-shrinker-man, and probably the head-shrinker-lady too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about them?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well head-shrinker-man specifically mentioned that you should be talking to someone about all the things, the emotions and memories and whatnot, and so I was wondering when you’d be doing that exactly,” Shawn rushed out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassie held his gaze at the TV, obviously tense and thinking through his response. “I’m fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lassie,” Shawn whined for effect, not letting him get away with the bullshitting. “What do you call last night?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A nightmare. Which is normal to have after a… traumatic event.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re just gonna keep happening until you talk about it more, Lass.” The man was silent next to him, and Shawn pivoted slightly to Plan B. “If you’re not going to talk to someone with a degree in listening, Lassie, you should try and talk to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spencer -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously Carlytown! What better person to have a casual conversation with that turns out to be both rewarding and healing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassie literally harrumphed and Shawn fought down a laugh at the noise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t you just hug me better?” The question was more whiny than genuine, but Shawn was nearly flustered at it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As much as I resent it, hugs aren’t a cure-all. Though I could hug you right now while we talk? And we can pretend to watch this very manly Western film where everyone keeps shooting at each other.” Shawn was hoping he was convincing. He was trying his best to be the caretaker person. “I have my own embarrassing emotional stuff to talk about too, so you won’t feel left out!” That was true enough - Shawn felt like he could burst at any second with all his pent up emotions, but he was trying to be there for Lassie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassie looked thoughtful for a second and nodded just enough to allow Shawn to launch himself over the foot of distance that had separated them before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There wasn’t much better than wrapping his arms around his Lassie, other than kissing him, and perhaps other fun things to do with Lassie at a later, hopefully soon, date. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he felt Lassie turn his attention to the TV again, he started talking. The first thing that came to mind was the nightmare from the previous night - something Shawn could relate to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ya know,” Shawn started, nuzzling his head under Lassie’s chin. “I don’t think I had a nightmare about getting shot and kidnapped until I was all healed up. I think my brain was thinking about everything else, like it was in panic mode and healing. For a bit, I was totally fine, then it was awful for a while. Then it got better.” Shawn felt Lassie exhale deeply and appreciated the squeeze of his arm around his back in reply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hate that it’s all in my head,” Lassie replied. “That I don’t have a bullet wound or something to show for it. It makes me feel weak.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wow, that was heavy,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Shawn thought. But it made sense, and Shawn was sure to use his serious voice in response. “You aren’t weak, Carlton. You’re the strongest person I know. And if you can’t be happy that you aren’t hurt more, I’ll be glad as hell. Just because it’s happening in your head doesn’t mean it isn't real.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn felt Lassie start to speak then stop himself so he went on, needing to get his own stuff out in the open and really not being able to stop at this point either. The crack in his dam was widening. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everyone thought you were dead, Lassie. Everyone.” Shawn heard his voice break but he couldn’t stop. “They thought you were gone </span>
  <em>
    <span>forever</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and that we should just give up until something changed, and I couldn’t - I couldn’t just give up and wait. But there was nothing to lead us to you, Lassie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shawn, it’s okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No it’s not! It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> okay, and I feel like it’s all my fault. If I had just stayed that night at the station instead of kissing you and running like a scared little girl, this wouldn’t have happened. Or if I had made you fall asleep at the station, or even gone home with you to make sure you got some rest -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not your fault -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I couldn’t even find you right away - every idea I had was wrong, and now you’re hurting because I failed you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shawn, stop blaming -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not a psychic, Lassie! I - I couldn’t just tilt my head and find you, and I failed you, and I’m so so sorry, and if you want to shoot me or lock me up I deserve it. I know I do because I could barely help and we barely found you at all and if wasn’t for that stupid article I saw you’d be -“ Shawn broke off, realizing what he just admitted. “Wow,” Shawn said, barely making a noise. Lassie was quiet, and Shawn couldn’t believe what he just said. “Guess I needed to vent more than I thought.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shawn, can I talk now?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t respond, too scared at what could happen next that he just held on to Lassie tighter. If he was about to be thrown out, or yelled at, or arrested, he wanted as much contact with Lassie as he could squeeze out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could run. He might have time to say goodbye to Gus and run by his apartment. He still knew people all over the continent. Maybe he could go back to Vancouver and work for the department up there, they liked him enough. Or maybe this was run away and change his identity levels of bad. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know you aren’t psychic.” Lassie sounded almost like he was rolling his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn gaped. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What kind of response is that? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“What?” He felt Lassie’s arms come around him more and start soothing his back, and only then did he notice he was shaking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have I ever said I believed you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, no, but you said -“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I said I’d prove it and arrest you so fast your head would spin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassie's hands were warm and soothing on his back and side, not at all matching how this conversation was meant to go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hate to break the mood here Lass, but I don’t exactly feel the cuffs going on right now,” he tried to joke. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shawn,” Lassie huffed and separated them enough to look him in the eyes. “I’m not going to arrest you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>me to?” At Shawn’s shaking head, he continued calmly. “Good. As I was saying, I always knew you were lying, and after I met both of your parents I put two and two together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh,” Shawn said smartly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re highly observant and trained in criminal profiling and detective work, both of which your father trained you in. And you probably have some crazy memory from your mother. And you’re… </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span> and can’t act like a normal person so you channel your inner idiot to get the job done.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey!” Shawn protested, but stopped at Carlton's dangerous eyebrow raise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a genius, Shawn. As a kid you got a perfect score on the detective’s exam, and you outwit everyone around you every day.” Lassie took a break and softened, shaking at Shawn’s shoulders slightly. “You are probably the only person who could’ve found me, and you did it by, what, remembering a split-second flash of a newspaper article on some hunch?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wide-eyed, Shawn nodded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassie tugged Shawn back in close and kissed his forehead, his temple, and hugged him tight. “You’re amazing, Shawn. You found me, no one else. It’s thanks to you that I’m alive. So shut up about the blaming yourself stuff, alright?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn tucked into Lassie’s chest and felt something release inside him. After all these years, and all the tension he’d built up with Lassie recently, he barely knew what to think now that it was really out in the open. And to hear everything Lassie said, sweet pineapple on everything - he really liked him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn really liked him back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Feel better now?” Lassie asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Shawn cleared his throat. “You?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exponentially. Now let up, this is the best part of the movie.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They rearranged themselves, with Shawn splayed all over Lassie, and turned back to the screen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a little bit, Shawn looked up at Lassie’s face, noticing the slight smile softening his features, his long eyelashes, his blue, blue eyes. “I really, really like you, Lassie,” he said quietly, almost without meaning to but not regretting it either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassie pulled his attention back to Shawn and smiled fully. “You’re not so bad yourself, Shawn,” he said, and this time Shawn saw the blush on his face as he complimented him again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn disregarded the movie, knowing that Lassie had seen it a dozen times before, and moved quickly back up to kiss the irresistible smile on Lassie’s face. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank u @otava and @ everyone who comments and keeps me going &lt;3<br/>I hope you enjoyed a little fluffy interlude before the final act of the story</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Recovery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>quick cw &amp; tw for panic/anxiety attacks</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Going to a smoothie shop and walking on the beach was probably the most casual thing Carlton Lassiter had ever done, but Shawn made it feel normal and easy. And he needed normal and easy. He needed to get out and be around people in normal society again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Twenty-three days didn’t seem like a long time in retrospect, but it was over five hundred hours of no physical contact and no mental stimulation, trapped in a small room with no windows. His torture consisted of isolation, a flickering light, and a slow suffering by way of malnutrition. Not to mention the mental torture of not knowing what would happen. Suffice it to say that it would take some time to recover, and Shawn was helping to guide him through it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A part of Carlton felt like he was a meager replacement for Guster, trying to fill that void in Shawn’s life while his friend was out dating and working, or maybe as a project to work on until he was back to normal, but he would take what he could get. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his mind interjected</span>
  <em>
    <span>, he trusted you enough to tell him about not being a psychic. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was true, even if the confession came out accidentally, Shawn hadn’t tried to back pedal out of it. In reality, he’d actually become even more cavalier about the whole thing around Lassie, in turn pretending to be psychic for the joke and also letting Lassiter in on how he solved a few cases when they were brought up in conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn stayed at his house nearly without asking or being asked, but it seemed like the right thing to happen. He’d only left Lassiter alone a few times, once to meet Gus at the office about a client, and a couple times to grab food for them when Lassiter didn’t want to go out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the entire week after Shawn found him, he was there for every difficult step of the way. Most of those steps were easy hurdles and adjustments, taking a hug or some gentle contact and conversation to work through. Then there were other things, things that made him feel ashamed and small and weak. But Shawn was there for those too.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first bad one that wasn’t a nightmare happened when they were watching TV. It was nearly three days since Carlton had been home, and things had gone smoothly. Well, as smoothly as one could expect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was feeling stronger, more aware and alert that he’d been since… before. Finding a bad movie or show to ridicule on TV each night had become a ritual to them, using the couch to be close and occasionally be </span>
  <em>
    <span>closer</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were halfway through </span>
  <em>
    <span>Miss Congeniality 2</span>
  </em>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Armed and Fabulous</span>
  </em>
  <span> when Carlton’s heart sped up for no reason. His vision narrowed, blurring at the edges like he was dizzy, and he suddenly couldn’t take a full breath in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shot straight up on the couch, dislodging Shawn from his side, and tried to breathe in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lassie hey - what’s wrong? Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t… breathe…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re shaking! Lassie - Carlton what do I--” Shawn sounded panicked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carlton could barely hear him, convinced he was about to spontaneously combust or die or something, something was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> for </span>
  <em>
    <span>no reason. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He was about to stand and move because he couldn’t just </span>
  <em>
    <span>sit there and die</span>
  </em>
  <span> when he felt Shawn’s hands on his shoulders. Somehow Shawn was in front of him, below him, holding on to him. That was good - that was something he could feel. Shawn was there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at me Lassie, look at me, that’s right that’s good!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter was wide eyed and panicking, but he locked in on Shawn’s eyes, his arms automatically going to Shawn’s. Shawn was there, Shawn was there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now breathe with me Lassie, okay? In and out, in and out,” Shawn said, miming the movements as he said them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His body moved Lassiter’s and it was all he could do to try and breathe along, stuttering and hiccuping until something released inside him and he could take a breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, Lassie, good, keep breathing. You’re okay. You’re home, you’re on your couch. I’m here, I’m right in front of you, okay? I’m right here, and so is Sandra Bullock in what is turning out to be a surprisingly solid sequel to an already well done movie, I mean, will they make a third </span>
  <em>
    <span>Miss Congeniality</span>
  </em>
  <span>? What would that even be? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Miss Congeniality 3: They’re Still Trying to Kill Beauty Queens</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like, what? They already outdid themselves with the first two plots! The third would kill them. Better stop while they’re ahead with an underrated sequel. Oh, but what if they did it buddy cop style? That could be good. There’s always a good soundtrack in a buddy cop movie. But who would be opposite Sandra?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He breathed in and out, following Shawn’s odd thought train until he felt normal again and he slumped down, exhausted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You back with me, Lassie?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, looking up again at Shawn and noticing for the first time that he was kneeling in front of the couch where he was still perched. He’d pushed back the coffee table, which was sitting at an angle, the leftovers of their meal half on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m okay. I think. Come on.” Lassiter tugged weakly on Shawn’s arms and leaned back on the couch, still feeling off and a little shaky. “What the hell,” he breathed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you had a panic attack, Carlytown,” Shawn said sadly, letting Lassiter move him into an awkward hug on the couch. He stayed in his arms despite the strain on his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why? It came out of nowhere.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It came from somewhere, probably something subconsciously triggered it.” At his pointed silence, Shawn continued. “Hey! I know big words too!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Weirdo,” Lassiter said affectionately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And proud of it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter settled into the embrace more, still feeling like he could fly off the edge of something at any second. Shawn had to be right - something in the movie or the situation triggered a panic response. He sighed, finding another thing he had to deal with on top of nightmares. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The more Lassiter realized he wouldn’t have a quick journey back to normal, the more he felt guilty about Shawn being around all the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, Shawn, it’s not that I want you to go, but you don’t have to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you don’t want me gone, then I’m here Lassiebabe!” Shawn said, fiddling with a bag of snacks he’d found in his duffle bag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter sighed, not wanting to argue with Shawn but needing to say what was on his mind anyway. “I don’t want my coping mechanisms to harm you or us. Just because you’re helping me doesn’t mean I’m helping you in the long run, and that’s not fair to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hugs aren’t hurting me! I think that’s physically impossible, unless you are a grizzly bear. Or a polar bear. Or any other kind of bear-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shawn, seriously-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or the Hulk!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m still not making your life any easier by… freaking out during normal movies and getting twitchy when it’s too quiet and being weird when you leave me alone for too long or whatever else is wrong with me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn dropped the snacks, still unopened, and turned to face Lassiter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Au contraire, mon Lassieface,” he said in a mock serious tone that turned serious, “it hurts me when I’m away from you too. I put so much energy into finding you, into hoping you were still out there and yelling at everyone who said differently that when I think about not being here I still feel all… panicky. Like all the tabs open on a computer and one of them is really important and there’s another playing music and another that has the answers but I can’t find which one I need to be on in my brain. But then I walk into the same room as you and you’re here and part of me still can’t believe it, Lassie. So you’re my copy machine too.”</span>
</p><p><em><span>“Coping</span></em> <em><span>mechanism, </span></em><span>Shawn.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Whatever floats your boat, Lassie. As long as I’m in that boat too. And it’s not like we’re dangerously codependent. I don’t feel the need to follow you to the bathroom, and I’ve been spending time with Gus and you have with Jules.” Shawn ran his hand through his hair, looking slightly uncomfortable with the feelings talk. “We’re just spending time together, Lass. Like roommates who sometimes kiss but are totally just hanging out. Good time, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter agreed and let it drop. He’d offered Shawn an out and Shawn didn’t take it, and that was enough for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>During their first big excursion out, everything went smoothly. Granted, they just drove to Red Robin, ate, and went back home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second time was a little different. Shawn wanted to swing by psych to check on something to do with “the cheese situation”, hell if Lassiter knew. They walked a short distance to a new coffee place Shawn had heard “good, delicious things about,” and that’s when it all went to hell in public. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat down at a tiny table inside, enjoying the air conditioning. Shawn had bought an iced mocha something and had ordered Lassiter an iced caramel coffee that was surprisingly good. The first few minutes were fine and normal, but something was making Lassiter uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay Lassiepants-with-pants-on?” Shawn asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I think so,” Lassiter replied. “Something just feels a little off.” He looked around, wondering if someone in the shop or outside was acting suspicious, but it looked like a normal enough crowd for a hot afternoon in Santa Barbara. Still, something was… wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter felt his breathing hitch, finally noticing the glaring, blank white walls surrounding him. White walls, white walls, they’re closing in, he can’t breathe, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>trapped</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lassie!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter came to himself about twenty feet outside the coffee shop, out of breath, apparently having sprinted there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn caught up to him in almost no time, walking around to face him. “You okay?” he asked quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter pointedly ignored the random people giving him odd looks and focused on Shawn, still trying to regulate his breathing. He took another breath in, and another, and nodded. Shawn made a minute movement forward and Lassiter accepted his advance, knowing the hug would help ground him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn squeezed tight, and Lassiter was suddenly incredibly happy that Shawn was who he was. Anyone else would’ve coddled him or made a scene, but Shawn was just standing there hugging him in the middle of the sidewalk like it didn’t matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“White walls,” he said to Shawn’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably didn’t mix well with the caffeine, either,” Shawn acknowledged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stood there for another minute until Lassiter separated them, feeling calm and cool. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanna keep walking?” Shawn asked simply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carlton thought he might love him.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Wave</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>more therapy porn for you all</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lassiter made the call to schedule a follow up with Dr. Robin, and within a few days was able to talk to the therapist again. Shawn had dropped him off and Lassiter had little issue finding her office in a less hectic wing of the hospital. He’d told her over the phone what had happened, and she wasted little time to dive right in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does it feel like when you have a panic attack?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter reflected on the question and his hand came up to his chest almost unconsciously. “Like I can’t breathe. A complete lack of… of control over anything. My vision narrows, and I feel like I have to run away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s talk about that lack of control - going back to when you were previously locked up in that room, what did your level of control feel like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter opened his mouth a few times before answering, trying to figure out how to put it. “It wasn’t a complete lack of control outside of not being able to leave. I could determine what I wanted to do each day, each minute, even. It took a while, I think, to stop…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pushing... against everything in my head.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you elaborate on that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter hated when she asked that question. “Like… I felt like I was going crazy not being able to leave. Almost panicky - the anxiety of it all was overwhelming at points.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how did you stop pushing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It felt like I was giving up,” he shrugged. “But I was just giving up control, trying to bring everything in my world back to that tiny room. Like it was the whole world, and I could control everything in it. It sounds stupid, but I felt in control while giving up control.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not stupid, Carlton. It was probably the best choice you had in the moment. You narrowed your world down to a space you could interact with and directly impact.” Dr. Robin shifted her clipboard around again. “What were some of the things that you could control?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter blinked at the memories, his vision going a little out of focus as he thought back. “The way I ate food. It was mostly fast food or microwaved meals. Nothing fancy or good, but I could eat it when and how I wanted, once it was shoved in there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much I slept - even when I felt like I was oversleeping it felt like control. It was my choice. What I thought about, when and how I exercised. I tap dance as a hobby, and I did that to focus. I had control over that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was it manageable?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There wasn’t a choice. I tried to keep it under control, because it was either that or bash my head into the wall. There was no choice but to… to endure the situation. The only control I had was how. I made up different scenarios in my head. Thought about what I would’ve done in John McClane’s position in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Die Hard</span>
  </em>
  <span>, stuff like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m impressed, Carlton.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, that I’m not a bumbling, broken man?” It was his fear. Now, after everything he’d been through, after panic attacks and not feeling like the same person he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>before</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Lassiter was afraid that he was changed for the worse. Even if the doctor said differently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that you had the strength to… endure, as you said. Not many have that, especially in such extreme situations you went through. Escapism was your best option.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Lassiter said, realizing the truth as he said it. “It was different from what he had intended to do to me. Jernon wanted to re-create solitary confinement. He only did that to the point of keeping me alone. But in real solitary, your whole day and life is planned out, depending on the type. Your every hour is regulated by someone else, what you wear and eat, what you have access to, who you see. Jernon just locked me in a room and left me alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That escapism, making up worlds in your head, tap dancing and exercising like you mentioned, probably helped more than you might think. You were able to escape, in a sense, the situation you were in, giving your brain a respite from the stress it was in. It’s a coping mechanism.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter made a face at that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that a reaction to?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coping mechanism,” he said, the phrase coming out with a cringe. “Aren’t those… not good things? Like, uh, ‘drinking was his coping mechanism and it killed him.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you drinking to cope?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Robin sighed and nearly smirked. “Then I think you’re alright, Carlton. Yes, coping mechanisms can be bad, but they exist in order to </span>
  <em>
    <span>cope</span>
  </em>
  <span> with a problem. Some people see them as a crutch, but if it works for you and isn’t harmful, then it’s probably a good thing, like using music to go to sleep each night, or having a comfort movie. It’s not a crutch if it works.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh,” Lassiter said in response. These sessions with Dr. Robin were at least interesting, and usually he got a small paradigm shift out of them. What had he learned this time? That his experiences were normal and his methods were good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Who would’ve thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Robin continued, pushing through Lassiter’s minor breakthrough. “What you went through, all twenty-three days of trauma and stress, took a toll on your brain chemistry. Feelings of unreality or surreality are not uncommon after something like this, and they can lead to panic attacks like you’ve had. What do you feel before they happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel…” Lassiter trailed off, trying to find the right words. “Well, at the coffee shop, I felt like there was something off, but I couldn’t place the feeling. Then my vision narrowed, and the next thing I knew I was halfway down the street. With the movie, it came out of nowhere - I just couldn’t get a full breath in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Robin nodded. “Your subconscious notices something that reminds it of your trauma, then it floods you with adrenaline. But, since your conscious can’t place a specific threat, it doesn’t know how to deal with all the adrenaline. Hence the symptoms you described.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter took that in. It made sense, objectively. But subjectively it scared the hell out of them. “How can I get my subconscious to… stop that reaction, then? I don’t want - I can’t be medicated all the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, how did you come down from those two attacks?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t stifle his smile at the answer. “Shawn. He talked me down, just held my shoulders and talked about stupid stuff like he always does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s good - it’s called grounding yourself. Touch helps, or any non-threatening outside stimuli. The trick is recognizing those feelings quickly before they spiral out of control. Like how you felt off in the coffee shop - learn to recognize that feeling and then take action to help ride out the wave and calm it without being overtaken.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do I do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Robin shrugged; “It depends. That’s a bad answer, but if you know what is triggering your subconscious then try to get away from it. For instance, if the walls feel like they’re about to close in, go outside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That makes sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The important thing with PTSD is that awareness,” Dr. Robin stressed. “If you’re paying attention to your feelings, that underlying current in your chest, you’ll be able to feel the swell and build of pressure. Then you can try to calm it back down, release the pressure in a controlled way. Seek out touch, go outside, breathe through it. Ride the wave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ride the wave,” Lassiter repeated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Late in the week, Lassiter was driving Shawn to what was apparently “The best jerk chicken place this side of the state line, except for that one place behind Paco’s but it’s technically a guy’s house and I think he’s still on vacation,” when he started to feel off again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a feeling he was able to recognize before blind panic set in. He pulled the car over and parked it, somewhat illegally, on the side of the road. Luckily it was a residential area with light traffic. Lassiter quickly and efficiently undid his seatbelt and got out of the car, leaving Shawn without explaining.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter walked to the empty sidewalk and stood, looking up and feeling the sun on his face, the wind on his skin, and he took a deep breath. He was okay. He was outside. He was just driving. The walls were not closing in. In fact, there were no walls. It’s okay. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ride the wave.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been too quiet and still, he thought, as his building panic diminished. Shawn had been texting and he was unnaturally quiet, and the radio was off. His subconscious must have noticed </span>
  <em>
    <span>quiet</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>small, enclosed space</span>
  </em>
  <span> and panicked, but he noticed in time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That meant he was getting better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hug time?” Shawn asked, appearing at his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter opened his arms in answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the first night, Shawn didn’t bother waiting for a nightmare as an excuse to crawl into bed with Lassiter. He’d even justified it the second night, claiming it was “touch therapy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“If you aren’t alone, you won’t feel alone. Subconscious stuff. Plus your couch sucks to sleep on, Lassie.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The arrangement was perfectly fine with him. He always slept better with someone next to him, and sleeping next to Shawn was an… experience. Matt had been restless, always kicking him in the middle of the night. Victoria had slept on her side and stayed like that all night, luckily sleeping through Lassiter coming home late and leaving early for the station. He hardly had anyone else to compare Shawn to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when he wakes up with the psychic wrapped around him like a heat-seeking octopus, he doesn’t complain. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Really</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks,</span>
  <em>
    <span> there might be something to the whole touch therapy thing after all.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>So when Shawn suggests smoothies and a walk along the beach the next morning, Lassiter readily agrees, smiling uncontrollably when he sees the names on their smoothie cups: Highway and J.D.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The Station</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Two weeks after coming back to the real world, Lassiter was determined to go to the station. He had to convince Shawn he would be fine on his own. It took a little doing, but Shawn relented halfway, using Lassiter’s trip as a ride to his own apartment to pick up clothes and other things he needed, like his bike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter thought Shawn just said that to spend more time mother-henning before “Lassie’s big day out,” but he drove Shawn to his laundromat-turned-apartment, the radio on in the background the whole way, with no incidents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure you don’t want me to come into the station with you?” Shawn asked again when they pulled up to his door. “I haven’t seen Buzz in ages and we need to dish about the latest </span>
  <em>
    <span>Real Housewives</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine, Shawn. I just need to do this myself, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn nodded and got out of Lassiter’s car. Lassiter wouldn’t put it past Spencer to follow him to the station on his bike, but he at least had the illusion of independence that he craved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the past two weeks, Lassiter had gone from sudden panic attacks and nightmares to something resembling normal. He was sleeping better, eating normally, and felt more like his old self every day. It had taken a week for his brain to kick back into gear and he began to look over his most wanted wall again and keep updated about police business through emailing O’Hara. He was technically on leave for another week, but he had yet to be debriefed by the chief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter set his mouth in a firm, uncompromising line and squared his shoulders, wanting to project the presence of Head Detective Carlton Lassiter as he entered the building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The few men who had seen him at the warehouse and at the hospital were either SWAT or lower officers, but he knew how rumors and stories could fly in a place like this. Who knew what was being said about him and his kidnapping - who knew what Jernon had said in custody. But he was back and everything else was behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded at the few officers he came across and accepted O’Hara’s excited wave with a smile. Lassiter knocked and entered the Chief’s office exactly on time for his appointment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Detective, have a seat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did so. “Chief,” he greeted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How have you been?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter considered the question, knowing that honesty was expected of him. And he respected Vick enough to know she wouldn’t hold his experience against him. “Up and down. But better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good to hear.” The Chief smiled and shuffled a few papers on her desk. “Now, business. Do you have anything to add to your initial report?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d supplemented the statement he’d given in the hospital already during a visit with O’Hara, and he typed his official report up and emailed it in as soon as he could. “No. Everything is there in the report.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vick nodded then leveled a look at him. “I have to say, Carlton, I’m surprised that you haven’t been around the station, or at least calling in for updates. It’s not like you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter shrugged. It was a fair question. “O’Hara’s been keeping me updated on Jernon, though there hasn’t been much to say after his confession. And with the rest - Chief, I trust O’Hara to handle it while I’m not here. She’s more than earned it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vick smiled. “You’re right about that. But I trust that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>ready and willing to come back on as Head Detective?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter breathed through his nose. “To be honest, Chief, I needed the leave. The past two weeks have been… good for me. I have no doubt that I’ll be itching to get back here next week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad to hear it. Your rest and recuperation wouldn’t be tied to spending time with…” she raised her eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spencer?” Lassiter shrugged, nearly as nonchalant as he was projecting. She’d seen Shawn in the hospital room, and O’Hara had no doubt been talking about them. “You might be right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. I’m happy for you, Carlton. Just be careful.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vick nodded and Lassiter took it as her cursory approval of whatever he and Shawn would end up doing. “I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, Detective. Your enforced leave is up at the end of next week. As long as you are okayed by the Dr. Brugge between now and then, I’ll be happy to have you back on board.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brugge, the department psychologist, was a necessary evil, but he was sure he would pass with flying colors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll set up an appointment with him on the way out.” Lassiter stood with Vick and shook her offered hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He left her office and took in the sights and sounds of the station. It was as busy and chaotic as always with officers rushing back and forth, prisoners being escorted and questioned, detectives drinking coffee and muttering about cases. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d missed the thrum of the office, the tension of solving a case, the thrill of chasing down a perp. Just standing there he felt the urge to join in and take charge, but he knew he needed more time to make sure his head was on straight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After debriefing with the chief and enduring several awkward yells of “Welcome back, Detective!” and “I knew you’d be back!” and one odd “Hope you had a good vacation!” he headed home. His mind clouded with doubts and anxiety about returning to work on the drive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shawn’s bike wasn’t there when he pulled in the driveway, so he knew his house would be empty. Being alone wasn’t as big of a deal as it had been a few weeks before. The silence didn’t bother him as much, especially if he had something to focus on, but there was still the chance that either of those things or something else could trigger a panic attack in the future. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was that going to be his legacy? Head Detective who survived being taken and held as a prisoner for twenty-three days unable to cope, has a panic attack in the middle of a shootout?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter came to a stop in the middle of his kitchen, needing to straighten out his thoughts. And he knew just the thing to help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went to his office and took out his tap shoes from the closet. The floors in there were hardwood, perfect for a little stress relief to clear his mind. He changed his shoes and put on the CD he’d made full of steady music to tap to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>During the first song he just stretched, doing a few easy warm-ups as he got the hang of the beat. It had been too long since he’d genuinely tried to practice, but it was always a good way of clearing his mind and gaining insight. Some people got that from meditation or running. Lassiter got it through rhythm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mid-way through the second song, he was in the zone, going through his tap exercises and short routines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was he ready to go back? The immediate answer was yes - he was more than ready for things to get back to normal. But he also knew he’d have to ease into it. God forbid he was at a crime scene surrounded by twenty officers and he has a panic attack about a white wall or a flickering light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question wasn’t whether or not to go back to work: It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Guns blazing and just as sure as before was what the old Lassiter would say. Show no weakness, take no bullshit. But Lassiter felt… different now. Not just temporarily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> different. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trauma and one’s response to it can be transformative. He’s not shaving his head and joining a cult - he just had an experience and came out the other side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On one side, he was Lassiter: tired and stressed about work, depressed to come home to an empty house, worried about moving forward with his life, building courage to take a chance with Shawn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being trapped in that room wasn’t just physical. It was mental and emotional, and it took a toll on him. Two weeks of being free didn’t mean he was automatically healed, but he’d made big strides toward his goals. The future would hold a longer path to recovery full of small steps. But his trauma would always be a part of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carlton tapped a little more aggressively, caught in the same move and rhythm as he tried to work out his thoughts. How was he different? Shawn was a factor - he had another person around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A stab of worry hit him. Would they last? He didn’t know. While their relationship had developed rapidly, it felt like they were building something strong; something built on trust. Shawn was different than he’d expected in a relationship - the opposite of the flighty, horny idiot he’d imagined. Instead, he was solid and steady, and most importantly he was patient. Just because they’d been sleeping in the same bed for two weeks didn’t mean anything else had happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two weeks sharing a bed with someone, after months of lead-up via movie nights and dinners. Having a person to rely on. It was all so different now, but it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Happiness. That’s what he felt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He missed Shawn the few times he’d been out. Even if he was messy and refused to empty the dishwasher in a timely manner - if he filled it up at all - Shawn was a positive presence that his life had needed for a long time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carlton had loved living with Victoria. She was a person to count on as being a part of his life and his decisions, and while their relationship hadn’t lasted, when it was good it was really good. Once Carlton lived alone again, he thought his house was too quiet with just him. He was too neat and orderly, and a home should have a little lived-in chaos to it. His only chaos was paperwork and files spread out over his tables, but even that alluded to his workaholic, lonely life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he imagined being with Shawn, it was chaotic and wild, like chasing a firefly through a field, catching it and watching it escape every so often just to chase it again. But Shawn was surprisingly… steady. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that he wasn’t chaotic too, but that’s what made Shawn work. His natural chaos worked for him and his brilliant, crazy mind. Once their walls had started to come down around each other, there was this easy, automatic kind of acceptance that they were who they were and it was okay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carlton wants Shawn around. He wants to kiss him every day. He wants to do more than kiss. He wants to count on Shawn and be counted on by him. He wants to argue about the dishes and try new things and watch bad 80s movies with him. Carlton wants Shawn to be there all the time, and he stops tapping at the thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bent over and stared at the floor, panting and sweating, the stereo still playing his tap music.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was he really ready for that, were they? Would Shawn, the notorious nomad and independent personality, would he even want to do something so serious and immediate as </span>
  <em>
    <span>move in</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His thoughts were broken by the sound of his front door opening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lassssiiieeee, I’m hooooome!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> home? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you?” Shawn sing-songed, dropping whatever he was carrying in the other room and finding Lassiter in the office. He posed dramatically in the doorway and looked Lassiter up and down. “Hey sweaty. Ha - see what I did there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter rolled his eyes and smiled. He walked up to Shawn and captured his head with both hands, moving swiftly into a deep kiss hello. Shawn responded with enthusiasm as Lassiter searched his mouth, sliding his tongue roughly along Shawn’s, opening his jaw wide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He broke away when he needed to breathe. “Hi, Shawn.” He moved back and took off his tap shoes and turned off the CD player.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy hell, Lassie, I should leave and come back more often if that’s how you’re gonna greet me.” Shawn looked dazed and weak in the knees. “I, uh,” he shook his head. “I brought lunch.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lassiter smiled and slid past Shawn still in the doorway, giving him a quick kiss on his way to the living room. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you all for comments and support! one more chapter to go - I'm hoping to post this weekend! let me know your hopes &amp; dreams for shassie at the end of this fic &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. The Move</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Life went on, in different ways than before, but it just kept going. Lassiter felt more in control of himself every day that passed without a panic attack, and even more so on days he was able to recognize the anxiety building and work through the wave before it became an issue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quickly, the days outnumbered how long he’d been taken and the new normal of his life felt less new.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simply put, he didn’t die. He didn’t turn out to be a complete wackadoo destined to bounce off padded walls the rest of his life. The Earth kept spinning and Lassiter kept living. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kept living with Shawn. No one was more surprised than him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After their initial discussions and fights about the sudden closeness of their relationship, having Shawn around most of the time just became reality.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn was practically living in his home, but Lassiter made no qualms about him going elsewhere, or spending nights away. Because just as much as Lassiter loved to jump into a commitment, Shawn was the opposite, and Lassiter didn’t want to box him in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t want to give him any reason to run. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lassie! Lassie Lassie Lassie!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter rolled his eyes and finished assembling the gun he just cleaned. “In here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lassie!” Shawn yelled, smacking into the doorframe of the office. “I need to go get some stuff from my place. Wanna come with?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He suddenly had a flash in his mind of a thousand days like this one - Shawn running around his house - their house? - yelling and crashing into things. The thought would’ve horrified him a year ago, but now it made him smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure. I’ll drive.” Though he didn’t know what else Shawn needed. His suits were already pushed aside to make room for checked shirts and folded jeans, his kitchen had mugs of questionable origin and bad slogans, and his bathroom was officially his and his. There was even a leaning stack of DVDs near his TV, and usually a fresh pineapple in his fridge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mee Mee’s Fluff N’ Fold was a dumb place to live. Lassiter had said as much before, and still thought so even with Shawn’s list of justifications. The “Clothing spinny thing!” was at the top of the list, alongside “Low, low rent, Lassie,” but he still didn’t see the appeal of living in an oddly cramped old dry cleaner’s with no kitchen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter followed Shawn inside and took the opportunity to look around while Shawn gathered more things. Shawn had gone through every inch of his own home, so he felt it justified to poke through his stuff too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This place was as eclectic as Shawn, but surprisingly sparse and tidy. His clothing hung on the spinning rack, along with several other things that had been randomly hung for “decoration.” The small living room type area that Shawn had set up behind the counter felt almost homey, if it weren’t for the cracked tile flooring and lack of any real home amenities. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They never did movie nights at Shawn’s because the TV at psych was bigger and the couch was nicer. The psych office was leaps and bounds above Shawn’s apartment - the kitchenette was even nicer. No wonder he spent so much time there instead of this place - and now rarely any time at his apartment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn grabbed a handful of DVDs and stuffed them in his duffle as Lassiter looked through his CD collection. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Find anything incriminating yet, Lassie?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing more disturbing than your apparent obsession with </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Sundays</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Spencer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, just because the ‘90s are an embarrassment to the memory of the ‘80s doesn’t mean that everything from that decade is garbage. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Reading, Writing and Arithmetic </span>
  </em>
  <span>was a breakout hit. I was a groupie of theirs in the Northwest for a few weeks one winter,” Shawn said. He took the CD out of Lassiter’s hand and slipped it in his bag, disappearing into a different room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter rolled his eyes at Shawn’s predictable rant. He very well could have toured with any number of bands, or he could just like the music enough for casual hyperbole. It was that sort of half-truth that used to drive him crazy and now just seemed endearing. It    made him feel secure about whatever road their relationship was going down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was so screwed, completely ass over teakettle for a fake psychic, real genius, manchild with horrible taste in living spaces. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God, Spencer,” he said, turning around to get the full effect of the place. “This place is…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cool, right?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s definitely... something.” It’s also in a bad neighborhood, had no clear layout, and was an old </span>
  <em>
    <span>dry cleaners. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lassiter wondered about the leftover chemical fumes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter spied an old pinball machine and tested it, noticing that only one of the flippers moved with the buttons. He thought that this would be one thing he wouldn’t want at his home if Shawn were to move in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Honestly, as Lassiter looked around, there wasn’t all that much to move. The bulk of the space was taken up by the clothing spinner and the huge old couch that may have been there before Shawn moved in. It didn’t surprise him, knowing Shawn’s previous nomad lifestyle. It would maybe take two or three trips in his car - less if they got Henry’s truck for a day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter walked around the kitchenette corner and through to the back room that served as Shawn’s bedroom. And a bed was practically all that could fit in there. Lassiter heard Shawn come in behind him and sighed when he threaded his arms around his torso, clinging to his back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Up for a romp in the hay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter briefly squeezed Shawn’s arms and turned in his embrace, leaning down lightly to kiss him. Shawn surged up, more than excited to take it further, but Lassiter kept the pace slow. “Or,” he broke off, considering the old sheets and uncomfortable looking mattress, and not at all considering the tiny room with bad lighting, “how about we go get some lunch?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Music to my stomach, Lass,” Shawn sang. He lightly smacked Lassiter on the ass and headed toward the front door with a stuffed duffle slung over his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter didn’t bother correcting him, too busy reveling in the genuine happiness he felt in the moment to bother. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mandatory desk duty was his transition back into work, and it went smoothly. His meeting with the department psychologist was the least awkward encounter he’d ever had with the man. Apparently voluntarily seeing a shrink on the side was a gold star in any detective’s record these days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It felt good to be back - more than good, even chained to a desk. He caught up on paperwork and was filled in on all the shady business and gossip he’d missed out on by O’Hara. There were new leads in old cases and bad news for bad guys all around. Lassiter could feel himself coming back to life, day by day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As much as his work life was restoring itself, his home life remained changed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One night after a great day at work, because he’d finally gotten to interrogate some scumbags, Lassiter looked up from washing dishes and caught Shawn just… existing in his house. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t doing anything special, just sprawled out over Lassiter’s couch, mindlessly eating popcorn and scrolling through his phone as some late night sitcom rerun played quietly in the background. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Lassiter just looked, and the look become staring, and then he sort of </span>
  <em>
    <span>had to freak out a little</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He put away the final plate, places the drying towel on its holder, grabs a beer, and quietly makes his way out the door to his back deck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The backyard is dark, lit only by the light from his house and the streetlights over trees, but it’s quiet and there’s fresh air. Lassiter leaned heavily on his deck railing, and two calming sips of beer later he was able to clear his racing mind and focus.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing Shawn like that, just hanging out in his house like it was nothing, triggered an avalanche of questions and possibilities in Lassiter’s mind. Would he want to move in? Is this going to become casual? Would Shawn get tired of him and his cop hours and leave him? Did Shawn even think he was welcome to stay… forever?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Things were different than they were a month ago. He was better, mentally, physically, and emotionally. Jernon was in prison, having pled guilty for a lesser sentence - minimum security instead of high but still a life sentence no parole, but Lassiter didn’t care. He was gone and locked away forever. And he didn’t have to face him in a public trial, and he could move on with his life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His life. His job had always been his life - his number one priority. It ruined him and Victoria, the final nail in the coffin after years of not quite getting along anyway. And as strong and fun-minded as Shawn was, he was also deeply sensitive, and Carlton had to worry about the future. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The future. Cut Shawn loose now and what, be spared later heartbreak by enjoying it sooner? It didn’t seem logical. But he didn’t know how Shawn felt - Lassiter didn’t want him trapped in the mental role of caretaker and be bored with Lassiter’s normal life, his long hours, his obsessive commitment to justice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Be bored with </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter heard the back door slide open and could almost see Shawn hesitate to come out, not knowing why he was out there in the first place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lass?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter set down his bottle and turned toward Shawn, nodding for him to come out, and was rewarded with a smile. Shawn came up in front of him, hands on Lassiter’s hips and legs on either side of his as he leaned back. They were practically the same height this way, which made it easy for Shawn to lean in and kiss Lassiter lightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatcha thinkin’ all by your lonesome out here, Lassafrass?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That I don’t want to be all by my lonesome</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought. Instead, Lassiter decided to man up and get to the conversation before it became a real problem. “I start back at full duty next week.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn’s smile widened and he bounced a little. “I’m so happy for you Lassie! I know you’ve been biting to get back to it, guns ablazing and all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m all… better and cleared and everything. Back to it.” He wasn’t manning up at all. He was pathetic, beating around the issue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, I know, tip top Lassie.” Shawn readjusts his grip, catching on to the fact that Lassiter was trying to say something else, too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not knowing how to put it, Lassiter decided that blunt was best. “Shawn that means that you can leave if you want to, go back to your apartment. If you want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn stopped his slight bouncing that never really stopped. “Are you asking me to leave?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh,” Lassiter said intelligently. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What if I don’t wanna go back to my apartment, are you gonna kick me out? Go back to the way things were before? Or </span>
  <em>
    <span>before</span>
  </em>
  <span> before?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, you don’t have to… I mean I just wanted you to know that, in case you were here because you felt...” Lassiter took a sharp breath, fully aware of how easy this could be to fuck up. “You could stay. Instead. If you want to.” Then Lassiter shut his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay? Like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>stay</span>
  </em>
  <span> stay? Or just… stay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>stay</span>
  </em>
  <span> stay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was apparently the correct answer because Shawn nearly knocked him over the railing, full body into him, hands holding his head to attack his mouth as best he could with a smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter took half a beat to respond, but he dove in with just as much enthusiasm. Mouth open, tongues sliding against each other, half of it just smiles meeting, arms and hands all over because Shawn just… he just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>wait</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter broke off half an inch, holding Shawn’s head in place with his hands. “Did you just say you want to move in with me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn was nodding halfway through the question and nearly cut him off with his response. “Oh yes, Carlytown, no backing out, we are sweet, sexy roomies and lovers in the nighttime. And the daytime. Whenever, really.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’re sure about this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More than! It’s only been the third most-thought-about-thing in my brain in the last three months, after getting you back and you being okay, and before that new pineapple smoothie at Jamba Juice, and did you know that the Fluff N’ Fold has a month-to-month lease?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter answered with a searing kiss, moving them both toward the house and inside because it was getting too hot outside in more than one way, and he knew exactly where a nice clean bed with a comfortable mattress was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn surfaced for air once they reached his bedroom - their bedroom - and they separated to unbutton their shirts in tandem. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You sure about this, Lass?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn’t I just ask you that?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They kicked their shoes off and reached down for socks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not that, Lassie. This. Sexytimes. Because it feels full on, is all, and I wanna make sure you’re okay with -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter threw his belt toward a corner and hauled Shawn back to him, chest to chest, and used his not insignificant two inches of extra height to make Shawn feel the full strength of his okayness with this particular moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d gone far enough, been gentle in bed, slow and loving, but he could understand Shawn’s hesitance. This was the first time they’d been passionate like this. But there was no force on Earth that could make Lassiter stop and explain it all right now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Luckily, Shawn got the message. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pants were pushed off and boxers followed, and there was something addicting and overwhelming between them. Lassiter couldn’t get his hands over enough of Shawn’s skin, grasping and rubbing everywhere he could reach, and Shawn was hanging on to his back and sides like he was trying to climb him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They reached the bed and Shawn followed him down to the mattress, his knees on either side of Lassiter’s skinny frame. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my God,” Shawn said between kisses and breaths. “Holy crap. Lassie.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter moaned as they adjusted quickly, loving Shawn over him, rubbing against him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve wanted this, just this, us, for ages, Lassie, it’s even better than I thought, and you-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter pushed Shawn up, breaking the kiss. “Shawn.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gotcha.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lassiter twisted to fumble at the bedside table where he’d stored the lube and condoms he’d recently purchased while Shawn used the opportunity to kiss up his neck, honing in on a particular spot under his ear that made him see stars. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus, Shawn,” he grunted, then rallied his coordination to grab the supplies. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn was halfway down his chest, licking and rubbing and driving him insane, and Lassiter had to regain some control of the situation or it would be over very, very quickly, so he executed a maneuver and had Shawn on his back in no time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then it was his turn to hover and drive Shawn wild with his touches and mouth from all angles, and he was pliant enough to spread his legs and hot enough to burn when Lassiter touched him and stretched him as their breaths mingled and he was hot, so hot and tight that Lassiter had to take a breath so he could keep going, rocking into him, intense and steady, until it wasn’t so steady, and Lassiter draped over Shawn and captured his mouth and swallowed his moans. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The afterglow was just what Lassiter wanted out of a post sex moment: quiet and together. As harsh as he could be in his job, he was not one to say no to a naked cuddle and a quiet conversation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God… living together. Moving in. Commitment with a capital C. Can’t wait to tell Henry, it’ll be a riot. Hey, this won’t be weird at work though, right? With the Chief and everyone?” Shawn’s question was soft and serious, but Lassiter felt like it came from him being on their side - them against the rest of the world - than anything else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We will be fine,” he assured Shawn, shifting slightly under him. “It’ll be normal at work. There’s no part of me who’s just going to roll over and take it from you in the field now that we’re… us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does that mean you’ll roll over at our </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shawn!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn chuckled against his chest and took a beat, serious again in that quiet, private way. “We also both work crazy jobs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carlton didn’t want this to turn into Shawn talking himself out of their relationship. What he said was true, but in a good way. “Yeah, that means we understand each other. I have long hours, you have erratic employment. Both of our jobs can be dangerous…” He trailed off slightly, rubbing his hand over the scar on Shawn’s shoulder, thinking of white walls and closed doors and loaded guns, dangers they both understand now. “But that just means we have something to stay around for, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shawn hugged him and kissed his chest, humming. “Well... I would save on rent and gas money coming here all the time, and you’re closer to psych and the station too…” he jested.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up, Shawn. You ‘ve practically moved half of your things here already, don’t think I haven’t noticed. But that pinball machine goes to your office or to a dump, I won’t have that in my home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Our</span>
  </em>
  <span> home, Lassie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, okay. I won’t have that huge, ugly, broken pinball machine in </span>
  <em>
    <span>our </span>
  </em>
  <span>home,” Carlton replied. Though it was hard to sound firm when he spoke through a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carlton Lassiter finally had his shit together for the first time in a very, very long time. His career was solid, his credit rating was excellent, and recent developments had opened his personal life up to new possibilities. Life was looking up, and it was about damn time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>THE END</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you all so much for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting! this was a story I started back when quarantine started in march and it's wild to see it done! a huge, insane thank you to @otava for beta-ing this whole thing and really inspiring me to keep writing. <br/>I would love to see what you thought in a comment!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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